


Growing Pains

by Kaiyou



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Breakups, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon, Sex, Soulmates, more tags to be added as the story progresses, onesided feelings, other secondary pairings - Freeform, poly dynamics, tagged pairings may not be endgame
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-06-14 17:44:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 55,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15394053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiyou/pseuds/Kaiyou
Summary: Tsukishima hates soulmate marks because he's markless. Kageyama hates them because his marks belong to people who have made themselves strangers. Together they've built something that ignores the idea of soulmates, but when something is built on dishonesty can it ever hope to stand? And who will be there to pick up the pieces if it breaks?





	1. Break

**Author's Note:**

> If you notp kuroken, bokuakakuroken, kurotsukki, or basically any combination of those five, be aware that this story involves relationship dynamics you may not be comfortable with. Same goes for kunimi/kageyama/kindaichi.
> 
> In this universe, soulmate marks may be either platonic or romantic (or really whatever people make of them). It's set in the same universe as [And Everything Nice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8303743), which is a fic about BAKK getting together.
> 
> I'd like to express my huge thanks to [Kiwi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Kiwi_33), [Snow](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sondeneige), and [Bugbearz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrysophyta/), who have been helping me read, plot, and edit the work. Having friends to bounce ideas off of is invaluable. Please note that any errors that slipped through are entirely mine.

Kageyama hates soulmate marks.

It’s a sentiment he shares with Tsukishima, strangely enough, though for vastly different reasons. 

He wasn’t supposed to find out about Tsukishima’s feeling - never would have if not for one night in their first year of university, when Yachi and Yamaguchi had announced their bonding with shy smiles and innocent looks. Tsukishima had been strangely gentle with the two of them, wishing them both the best at the party that followed. Sometime after the third or fourth round of drinks, Kageyama had needed to piss and had been drunk enough that the locked bathroom door made the alley behind the club seem a better alternative than waiting.

The sight of Tsukishima with a busted up hand had shocked him. 

“I hate soulmates,” Tsukishima had hissed, glaring at him. “And if you ever tell anyone, King, I swear to -”

“Me too,” Kageyama had interrupted. He’d still needed to pee, but that wasn’t something he’d wanted to do in front of an angry Tsukishima. 

Fortunately, it hadn’t taken long for Tsukishima to storm off into the club. Kageyama was never quite sure how Tsukishima explained away his bloody hand, but by then it didn’t matter. The wall that had always been between the two of them had been cracked.

At first, the unexpected encounter had just kindled an odd sort of friendship. Tsukishima was one of the rare people who didn’t have a soulmate mark - or at least, didn’t have one that was visible. Soulmate marks were strange things, they could show up anywhere on your body. They signaled the potential for a deeply committed bond between two people. Without one -

Well.

“Without one people think you don’t have the capacity for a real relationship,” Tsukishima spit out one night. “Why even bother trying to really care about you if you can’t return their feelings? Especially if they already have someone who -”

“Makes them feel complete,” Kageyama had muttered, and they had shared a look of understanding that was strange for how normal it felt.

That understanding leads to something else far more complicated, something involving bitten lips and fingernails digging into Kageyama’s hips. It isn’t enough. It’s never enough. It’s just one side of wrong - too hard and too soft, not what he really wants. An echo of yearning. But it’s what he has, so he takes it because it’s better than nothing.

And he is always careful.

The thing with Tsukishima turns into something he doesn’t expect. It makes his deception sit poorly in his stomach, the way Tsukishima starts to trust him. They spend more and more time together, lounging around in Tsukishima’s apartment and watching old monster movies. Fortunately, Tsukishima isn’t an early riser - or at least, he scoffs at the fact that Kageyama still goes on 5 AM runs. To Tsukishima, it’s just another one of Kageyama’s quirks, like the fact that he wears socks to bed even when they’re having sex. 

Things change a bit the morning Kageyama accidentally oversleeps his alarm.

He wakes up to fingers gently carding through his hair. It’s a pleasant feeling, and his brain supplies an image of who the hand is probably attached to, whose fingers were always gentle on lazy summer afternoons when they all skipped class and hung out on the roof. There’s a name that almost comes out of his mouth before he wakes enough to realize he’s in Tsukishima’s bed. 

The fingers pause and Kageyama hears a soft intake of breath. He turns, meets Tsukishima’s eyes, waits for the anger and betrayal.

Instead, Tsukishima looks away.

“It’s nice,” Tsukishima murmurs, “waking up together.”

It puzzles Kageyama until later when he’s on the phone with Hinata. Hinata has always been better at him at decoding things like this.

“Maybe he likes what you have?” Hinata asks, before putting a hand over the phone so he can turn to yell at the kids he’s coaching.

It gives Kageyama time to think.

Hinata knows, of course. He’s the one who discovered the mark.

“Hey Kageyama, who’s Yuutarou?” he’d asked, one afternoon when it had been so hot that Kageyama had stuck his whole head into the water fountain, lifting the strands off his neck.

He hadn’t thought anything about it at first, just turned and given his best friend a weird look. “Kindaichi?” he’d finally asked.

Eyes widening, Hinata had said, “You - the guy in middle school? That shallot-head guy from Seijou?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Uh, you have a - on the back of your -”

It had felt like a punch to the gut.

He’d already known about Akira’s mark, of course. It sat on the top of his left foot. He’d convinced himself it was just coincidence. Akira was a common name, after all, and it had been plausible that his soulmate just happened to have the same name as one of the guys he’d had a crush on in junior high. It could have just been a coincidence.

Having marks that matched both of them was not.

Especially when he’d known they were together.

That much had been easy to see, at least to him. It wasn’t like they went out of their way to show off their bond in matches, like the little pastel stars Oikawa drew down Hanamaki’s arm or the curves of maroon that slid up Shirabu’s neck each time Goshiki hugged him after the perfect spike.

But Kageyama had known Kindaichi and Kunimi for years.

He knew when he was watching the inevitable.

“Ah, so anyways,” Hinata says, pulling him back to the present, “What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing,” he says, guilt souring in his gut. “It’s fine.”

It’s much easier to filter out the sound of Hinata yelling at him when it’s over the phone. It really is fine, after all. As inevitable as the bond between Kindaichi and Kunimi is, it’s even more obvious that he’s never going to be a part of what they have. 

If Tsukishima likes what they have enough to not say anything about seeing Kageyama’s soulmate mark, Kageyama is fine with that. He likes what they have too. It’s - well, it’s not easy, but it’s nice, and Kageyama cares about him.

“Well,” Hinata was saying, “At least, like, talk to him about the marks?”

Kageyama thinks it’s good advice. Hinata is probably right.

But it’s easier to do nothing.

After all, if Tsukishima wants to have a conversation about it, he will, right? And Kageyama is content with how things are. He likes the way he learns how to know when Tsukishima’s snark is random and when it’s meant to wound, likes the talks they share about volleyball in the middle of the night. Tsukishima is important to him.

He doesn’t want to risk losing that just because of some random memories and vague adolescent yearnings. So he wears socks all the time even when they make his feet itch, and makes sure to not call out anyone’s name during sex, and tries to see - really see - the one person laying beside him every night. 

It’s fine. No, it’s good. It’s comfortable.

So comfortable that Kageyama doesn’t even think to be careful the morning that Tsukishima comes into the bathroom while he’s taking a shower.

“Tobio, what’s the password on this account? I’m trying to order -”

“Huh?” Kageyama asks, tilting his head to try and peer at the phone in Tsukishima’s hand.

But Tsukishima isn’t answering, so Kageyama looks up, going cold when he sees that Tsukishima’s gaze is directed at his feet.

His foot.

Oh, shit.

~~~~~~

Tsukishima wants the fight to be explosive, but it’s hard to yell at Kageyama when he’s standing there wet and naked. Not because it’s sexy - no, thoughts of sex have left his mind at the moment, pushed out of the way by swirling emotions he has no idea how to deal with.

So instead, he just turns on his heel and utters one last word before storming out of the bathroom.

“Pathetic.”

It’s probably predictable. He wants to say more. Wants to say how fitting it is that the king should have two soulmate marks while he, a mere commoner, has none. Though why it worked out that way when Kageyama is about as emotionally constipated as a hippopotamus -

That doesn’t even make sense.

He knows it doesn’t make sense. Hates that he’s upset enough at this for it to not make sense.

“I’m sorry!” Kageyama says. Yells, really.

Turning, Tsukishima wants to sigh. Kageyama’s hair is still wet - obviously - but at least he’d managed to pull on some sweatpants and a shirt.

All the words swirling around in Tsukishima’s mind feel wrong to throw at the man he loves. Loved? He isn’t quite sure, so he just waits.

“It’s - it’s just Kindaichi and Kunimi,” Kageyama tries, hands curling together at the hem of his shirt. “It’s nothing. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“So you kept it hidden from me because it’s nothing?” Tsukishima asks, hearing the brittleness in his own voice. Nevermind that he’s kept the fact that he’d seen the one in Kageyama’s hairline a secret, nevermind that he’s hoped that Kageyama wouldn’t find out about it, wouldn’t leave him to go search the name registries to find his perfect match.

It turns out that Kageyama had known about it after all. Known about that, and the one on his foot. The sock thing is all too obvious now that Tsukishima thinks about it. He can’t believe it had fooled him.

Maybe he’d wanted to be fooled.

“I just didn’t know how to explain it,” answers Kageyama, sounding so miserable that Tsukishima almost wants to pity him until he hears the next words. “They don’t want me anyway.”

Stiffening, Tsukishima asks, “And if they did?”

Kageyama just blinks at him like he’s lost his mind. “It doesn’t matter, they wouldn’t.” he finally says, not seeming to realize the impact of his words. 

Tsukishima wondered how he’d been foolish enough to set himself up for this. Why had he opened up to Kageyama of all people? Told him everything, and all while - “I see. So what, until they change their minds you just want me to be your replacement, hmm? Your second - no, third choice, if I’m even that.”

“What? No, I -”

“Did you even like me? Or was I just convenient, someone to get your dick hard.”

“No - of course, I like you, you’re my best friend -”

“I thought that was Hinata-san. But maybe he’s easily replaceable too.”

“You - he - Kei please -”

“Tsukishima-san, if you don’t mind.” The words are cold, cruel, and he can visibly see how much he’s hurting Kageyama with them. A part of him is sick at himself. He cares about Kageyama so much, enough to let him into his life, but - “I reserve the right of using my first name for people I know well, and it seems like I don’t know you at all.”

“Please,” Kageyama says, crying now. 

It’s a pathetic sight, it really is. He wants, for a moment, to hurt anyone who’d hurt Kageyama like this - but he’s still so angry.

Still angry, even though in some ways, Kageyama is the only person in the world who knows the real him.

But it’s not enough. 

Not right now.

Biting back any more angry words, Tsukishima turns and looks out the window. “I think you should leave,” he whispers, feeling a tightness in the back of his throat that signals the possible onset of his own tears.

Fortunately, Kageyama is gone before they start to fall. He leaves nothing but echoes of his footsteps as he walks out of Tsukishima’s apartment, but the evidence of his departure is everywhere.

~~~~~~

It’s his own fault. That’s what Kageyama tells himself. He should have listened to Hinata. Should have been honest, should have told him -

And now the person he wants to be closest to hates him, and for good reason.

Kageyama really really hates soul marks.

He doesn’t even know where to go. He’d grabbed his wallet but forgot his keys, has his cell phone but doesn’t want to call Tsukishima to ask him if he can get them. He could probably go to his landlord and ask for a spare key, but he feels terribly underdressed for that.

Just thinking about what he should do next exhausts him, so he plops down on a bench in a park, head in his hands.

He doesn’t know what to do.

“You should try another flavor besides salted caramel once in a while. I’m just saying -”

“You always say that.”

Shit shit shit.

Freezing, Kageyama tries to make himself as small as possible. Maybe they won’t notice him. Of all days - well. 

He’s suddenly irrationally angry at the two of them. If they didn’t exist, if Kageyama wasn’t their soulmate, then none of this would have happened. He could’ve been honestly markless when talking with Tsukishima. He’d still be with Tsukishima. What did the marks really mean, anyway?

A deep laugh stirs something deep in Kageyama’s gut, makes him react even if he hates the fact that he’s so weak. Kindaichi has always had the best laugh. He’s hard and rough in a way that Tsukishima is not. Tall, too - but not insanely smarter than Kageyama like Tsukishima is.

Like Kunimi is.

He hears the low murmur of Kunimi’s voice, like the stones in a riverbed, warm and dark. Kunimi is sharp, and speaks with words that you don’t even know will hurt until they land. On the surface, they’re softer than the barbs that Tsukishima flings everywhere - but they stick in deep.

“Kageyama?”

Shit shit shit.

He wants to pretend that he didn’t hear them. If he stares down at his hands for long enough, will they just leave? Is that strange? They already think the worst of him, it’s not like he can fuck it up any further.

The thought almost forces a hysterical laugh out of his lungs and he looks to the side, feeling tears well up and over. 

He’s shaking.

He’s a mess, he’s crying and he’s shaking.

“Maybe we should just -”

“Are you ok?”

The fact that it’s Kindaichi asking has Kageyama looking up in surprise, arm lifting to cover his eyes as he meets Kindaichi’s gaze. Shock, Kindaichi is shocked. 

Kageyama swallows. I’m fine. Say it. “I’m - I’m - I’m -”

“You look like shit.”

“Kindaichi!”

“He does, just - are you hurt? Were you mugged or something?”

The laugh does come then, as Kageyama frantically shakes his head. Hurt? Oh, he’s hurt, he’s beyond hurt, and this just makes it worse, so much worse. But he - if he doesn’t fix this they might be really worried, might call someone - oh, they can’t call someone -

“No, sorry,” he mutters finally, rubbing at his eyes with his fists like a child. “Sorry, just - had a fight with my boyfriend, I’ll be fine just -”

“Boyfriend?”

There’s an edge of something in Kindaichi’s voice that Kageyama can’t place. He’s never been good at analyzing emotions, really, but Kindaichi almost sounds - angry? Jealous?

Looking up, Kageyama sees that Kindaichi’s face is stormy. Kunimi is looking away.

Maybe he’d read them wrong all these years?

He’d thought they were dating, but maybe -

“What’s wrong with me having a boyfriend?” Kageyama growls, wanting to curl up and protect his heart even more from Kindaichi’s burning eyes. “You have a problem with that?”

“I -” Kindaichi says, mouth opening and closing a few times, hand coming up to brush against the side of his neck under his ear. 

Kunimi is looking between the two of them, gaze analytical and full of thoughts that Kageyama can’t hope to read. 

The silence hangs between them for almost too long before Kunimi breaks it.

“You look cold,” he finally says. “We’re going to get coffee.”

The two statements are utterly disconnected in Kageyama’s mind.

He turns them over, trying to make sense of what Kunimi means, what he’s trying to convey. “I’ll, uh,” he says, “I’ll warm up when the sun comes out?”

Kindaichi scoffs, but Kageyama only has eyes for Kunimi, watching as he purses his lips and tilts his head to the side before looking at Kindaichi.

“Eh?” Kindaichi asks, looking back at him. “Are you -”

A silent conversation happens right in front of Kageyama’s eyes and he can’t understand a bit of it. It makes him feel even colder, yearn for everything he can never have. He watches, feeling greedy, drinking in all the details. 

Kunimi face is still delicate, but firm. His arms aren’t as toned as they used to be. Kageyama heard he’d quit volleyball when he went to university. A waste of good talent, but Kunimi had talent all over the place. Kindaichi had filled out, shoulders broadening, hands big as he brushes his fingers down over Kunimi’s arm.

“Uh,” Kindaichi finally says, turning back to Kageyama, “If you want, you can join us. You know. If you want to, like. Talk, or uh...”

It makes Kageyama flush, thinking about the reason for the fight. 

Can he even call it a fight? Or was it a breakup?

Either way, there’s no way he’s going to tell either of them the details.

Do they know about his marks? Do they have - if they know and they haven’t said anything -

He hasn’t said anything -

“I don’t want to talk,” he says, the words as true as any he’s ever said. Kindaichi deflates a bit and turns away, but Kunimi is still watching as Kageyama continues. “I - uh - I wouldn’t mind coffee though, I think. If you’re sure.”

“We’re sure,” says Kunimi.

And that’s that.

Coffee is an awkward thing. Kageyama nurses his, watches as the others sit across from him in a booth. Kunimi is quiet, thoughtful, studying him in a way that makes him feel nervous. Kindaichi is loud sometimes, starting and stopping conversations like he’s trying to find something for all of them to talk about.

It distracts Kageyama from his pain, from the fact that he’s going to have to go back and face Tsukishima to get his keys at some point. The hurt is still there, like a wave waiting to crash down on him. All the self-hate, the heartache, the loss, the fear of loss - all of it. 

This strange space in time with the other two is just the moment before everything truly breaks.

He knows this even as he craves every second of their company. 

A part of him is angry, wishes they could be awful so that he could go back to Tsukishima and take back all his words, convince him that even if these two wanted him that he wouldn’t want them back. It isn’t that he has any notion that they do want him. Isn’t like things aren’t weird and strained and he’s fairly sure Kunimi arranged the invitation just to be polite.

What he is sure of is that a part of him wants any time with them that he can have, even if it’s filled with stilted conversations and anger.

Tsukishima was right. He really is pathetic.

But when Kunimi offers to exchange numbers before they leave, he jumps at the chance, just in case.

Just in case.

~~~~~

The worst part, Tsukishima thinks, is how lonely it makes him feel.

Kageyama really is his best friend, these days. Was? Is? Had been? He has to laugh at himself for trying to figure out semantics in order to distract himself from the gaping black hole of Kageyama’s absence. 

Fuck, but Kageyama is a moron.

He isn’t, really. Oh, he is an idiot about some things, of course - that hasn’t changed since high school - obviously an idiot about this -

Maybe Tsukishima was the idiot.

He’s laid himself bare to Kageyama, thought maybe they could make a match that would last even without the everpresent ideal of the soulmate.

Instead - fuck.

And he doesn’t have anyone else he can talk to about it.

Yamaguchi - well, there’s a wound. His own damn fault, really. It’s hard to play pretend with someone you’d been in love with for years. Yamaguchi is clueless about that, of course; Tsukishima intends to keep it that way. Clueless and happy.

Tsukishima doesn’t begrudge him his happiness. Yachi is a precious friend, after all, and seeing her so ecstatic was a joy. It’s just - hard.

They are still friends, but not, well. Close.

He thinks about the other Karasuno people. He hadn’t really been close to anyone other than his teammates in high school. Volleyball had been all-consuming. A part of him wonders if he should’ve broadened out more, made more friends.

At least then he might have someone else close, someone he trusted. Scrolling through the list of contacts on his phone he considers. Akaashi maybe; Akaashi never seemed like he would judge. Bokuto - no, there was no way he was going to talk to Bokuto about this. Besides, the two of them were linked with Kenma and Kuroo, and Kenma is soulmates with Hinata too, even if their bond is more platonic. And Kuroo -

His thumb hovers over the contact.

Kuroo is another reason he hates soulmate marks, though that thought is more of an ache than anything. After all, it’s different than the muted longing for Yamaguchi. It would be, though; Kuroo and Yamaguchi are nothing alike. That was probably one reason Tsukishima had developed a mild crush on Kuroo in high school. Kuroo had annoyed him, was far too smart and saw Tsukishima’s weaknesses far too easily.

But he’d never judged him for them.

Even now, they’re friends. It’s in part because they shared the same major, and Kuroo had passed his books down to Tsukishima and helped him study. Obviously with Kuroo being taken Tsukishima had quashed any romantic feelings long ago, of course, but still -

It’s an impulse that makes him press the call button. Impulse he immediately regrets as soon as the phone starts to ring. He could hang up, but then Kuroo will probably call him to see if he’s alright and if he doesn’t answer the call -

“Hello?”

Kuroo’s voice is heavy with sleep. That just makes Tsukishima feel guiltier. 

He presses his concern down and sucks in a breath. “Good morning, Kuroo-san.”

“Kuroo-san,” Kuroo repeats, pausing a moment. “Ah, oh, Tsukki.”

“I apologize for waking you. It’s not anything important, I can just -”

“What? No, no, it’s fine, I’m awake now, what’s up?”

Tsukishima pauses, trying to find words he doesn’t have. He’d mentioned once to Kuroo that he was markless but they hadn’t gone into it. He knows about Kuroo’s three marks. It’s strange to have a bond of four, even stranger because they’d found each other in high school. Maybe he’d called him up because Kageyama had multiple marks as well. Maybe he’d called him up because, for all that his attitude was irritating, Kuroo could be straightforward when push came to shove, and gentle with the punches he wouldn’t pull. 

Making a decision, Tsukishima says, “Do you think that we could -”

“Hey, who’s that Tetsu? Is it Keiji? Is Keiji calling?” 

Tsukishima knows the voice of the man whose voice booms out of his phone’s speaker, though the sound irritates him in a way that Bokuto normally doesn’t. 

“No, It’s not, Kou,” Kuroo says. “I’d tell you if Keiji called. It’s Tsukki.”

“Tsukki? Hey! Tsukki!” There’s a scuffled for the phone and then Bokuto’s voice is much closer as he says, “How are you, Tsukki? Man, I haven’t seen you in ages! You should come over! Wait! We’re going to the club tomorrow night - you should come to the club with us!”

Now it’s Kuroo’s voice that’s muffled as he says, “Kou - Kou, give it back, he was asking me -”

“I just want to know if he’ll come out with us again!” Bokuto whines.

It catches on something in Tsukishima’s heart, to be wanted like this. Even if it’s just Bokuto, it’s something, because he knows without a doubt that Bokuto is never anything but sincere. “I’ll come, Bokuto-san,” Tsukishima finds himself saying. “Can I finish my conversation with Kuroo -”

“Awesome! I can’t wait to see you!”

It pulls a smile out of Tsukki that he’s glad Bokuto can’t see, and he listens as Kuroo wrestles the phone back.

“Sorry about that,” Kuroo mutters. “He’s been - well - yeah, he’d love to see you tomorrow. We both would. What was it that you were going to ask me?”

“It’s fine,” replies Tsukishima, giving himself a moment to consider if he wants to finish his earlier question. “It’s just - dammit, just a second -”

Pulling his phone away from the ear he stares at the name on the incoming call. 

Too soon, you fucking idiot.

Rage spikes through him, quickly followed by a pain so sharp it leaves him shaking. 

Swallowing, Tsukishima lifts his phone back to his ear. “Can we meet for coffee?” he asks, hoping that his emotions can’t be heard in his voice. 

There’s a beat of silence on the other end of the line and it makes him worry again. Kuroo has always been good at reading things. Not as good as Akaashi-san or Kozume, but still.

It’s enough.

When Kuroo speaks, however, his voice is kind. “Sure, Tsukki,” he says. “I’m free this afternoon if you want. Say around four?”

Flicking his gaze to the clock, Tsukishima calculates the hours and tries to ignore the fact that his phone is ringing again. “Four is good. That place by the cat cafe?”

“Works. It’ll be good to see you.”

The warmth in Kuroo’s voice is real, and Tsukishima finds himself clinging to it like a lifeline. Six hours. He can hold on for six hours. He can deal with whatever bullshit Kageyama is trying to pull, and fix lunch, and make flashcards for his class, and not fall apart.

“You as well, Kuroo-san,” Tsukishima finally says. “I’ll see you then.”


	2. Want (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (the last scene is explicit, with bdsm elements/mild bondage/references to impact play)

The look on Tsukishima’s face when he opens the door is something Kageyama remembers from high school. Angry, sneering, promising swift retribution for anyone who comes too close. On the court, he could counter it. 

At the moment, he feels nothing but guilt, and it makes him want to turn tail and run.

“I thought I told you to get out,” Tsukishima spits, using his full height to his advantage. 

“I - “ Kageyama says, “I forgot -”

“What, you have another soulmate mark to show me? Maybe one on the sole of your foot? In your hairline? Maybe on your tongue? No, I would’ve seen that one, considering the times I’ve had you show me -”

Flushing red at that memory, Kageyama looks away. “My keys,” he mumbles.

There’s the space of a breath, and he thinks that Tsukishima will slam the door in this face anyway. Kageyama isn’t sure he’d blame him.

After a long sigh, Tsukishima steps back though, letting Kageyama into his domain.

“I’m sorry,” Kageyama whispers as he passes.

“Don’t talk.”

The words are icy, brittle in a way that lets Kageyama know that there is pain behind the anger. He is sorry, so very sorry. He feels adrift. 

Seeing Kunimi and Kindaichi earlier doesn’t help the feeling one bit.

Of course, he can’t remember where his keys are, so he has to search. Every spot in Tsukishima’s apartment holds a memory. He pulls back the couch cushions, sees the stain on the bottom of the left cushion from the time he’d spilled chocolate milk and they hadn’t gotten it cleaned up in time. On the bookshelf there’s a bowl that they sometimes put spare change and keys into, holding a dinosaur keychain he’d gotten Tsukishima on impulse at a train station in Hokkaido. In the bedroom, Tsukishima’s bed is still messy from everything they’d done the night before.

So many of his things are scattered around the apartment he wants to gather them up just to spare Tsukishima any pain at the sight of them. He wants to stay, wants to crawl into the bed and forget this ever happened, pretend it’s just a nightmare. He’s had this nightmare.

He doesn’t know what he wants.

That’s the worst part, really.

He feels like if he could just tell Tsukishima that the other two mean nothing to him - that he loves Tsukishima and doesn’t want anything else - that maybe he could stay, talk this out.

Seeing the other two just reinforced how much he wants -

Something.

It’s like looking up at the birds and wanting to fly, even when everything around him feels like home.

“Find them yet?” Tsukishima says, standing in his bedroom doorway.

Picking up his jeans, Kageyama feels the tell-tale weight. He pulls them out, puts the jeans under his arm and nods. “Got em,” he mutters, looking up into the other man’s eyes. “Kei -”

“Don’t,” Tsukishima warns.

His eyes look like they’re turning red.

Tsukishima - Kageyama wonders if the worst sin of all is that he’s going to make Tsukishima cry. It just feels so wrong, makes him feel like such an asshole. He is an asshole.

An asshole that needs to give Tsukishima space. That needs to figure out what the fuck he wants before he asks Tsukishima for anything else, no matter how much he wishes he could just sink back into their comfortable normalcy.

“I’ll call you, ok?” he asks, looking down and curling his fingers around the keys in his hand. He rubs his fingers over the FC Tokyo keychain that Tsukishima had bought him back before he’d decided to not to try to play volleyball professionally after he graduated. He still follows them, even if they are one of the worst clubs in the league. 

It feels like he is holding failure in his hand.

“Text me instead this time.”

Kageyama nods, follows him out the bedroom and toward the entrance, lets Tsukishima close the door at his back. It feels like he’s giving up. A part of him wants to stay and fight.

He knows Tsukishima was worth fighting for.

But he isn’t quite sure if he’s the person who should win that fight.

~~~~~~~~

At some point after lunch, Tsukishima had said fuck it and gone on to the coffee shop early. He likes it, after all. Just coming in through the door calms him, as the workers know his normal order and have it ready for him when he gets to the front of the line.

There are advantages to being predictable, after all.

Eyeing the strawberry cheesecake, he pays for his drink and then carries it and his bag up the stairs to his regular booth. Fortunately, it’s empty.

Kuroo is the one who’d introduced him to this place. It’s on the canals, near the sky garden. There are trees outside that flower in spring and sometimes in summer. In fall, the leaves change to reds and oranges and yellows. In the winter, fairy lights sparkle between the leafless branches. Tsukishima’s booth is right next to the front window, allowing him to look out onto the people walking along the canal as he works. 

It helps him to remember his place in the world. Helps to give perspective to the pain.

He manages to get through two articles and question sets before a mug is placed on the table next to him, and then someone slides into the booth across from him.

Brow furrowing, he looks up at Kuroo. “How did you know I would need -”

“I asked Michiko how long you’ve been here,” he says, shrugging. 

Studying him for a moment, Tsukishima looks at the mug and then back up at his friend. “You look like shit,” he says. Kuroo’s hair is even messier than usual, and he has bags under his eyes. “Class project?”

“Ah,” Kuroo replies, looking to the side, “no. Just - well. It’ll be fine. What’s going on with you? I mean, I suppose it’s possible that you just wanted the pleasure of my company, but...”

It makes Tsukishima scoff, a brief smile chased away by thoughts of why he’d asked Kuroo to meet him.

Why had he asked him, anyhow?

Well.

Maybe Kuroo would understand even if he didn’t know exactly why, or what he wanted from the other man’s presence.

“Kageyama has two soulmate marks,” he finally says.

“Huh.”

The space that stretches between them feels like it has a physical weight. Even mentioning marks brings up old pain, old questions, gentle inquiries from his grandparents and not-so-subtle taunts from snide classmates. He’s scared of seeing judgment or pity in Kuroo’s eyes, but Tsukishima knows his fears are foolish when it comes to Kuroo. He might be an asshole sometimes, but Tsukishima trusts him.

Kuroo knows, after all.

“Did they just come up?” Kuroo asks.

“No.” 

“But you just found out about them.”

Pursing his lips, Tsukishima thinks of how to respond.

It didn’t take him long to decide that playing twenty questions with Kuroo will just delay the inevitable, so he says, “I saw one a couple of weeks ago. It’s on the back of his head, right near his hairline, so I thought - well. I thought maybe he didn’t know about it.”

“So you told him?”

Tsukishima looks up helplessly. “No.”

“Oh.”

There is no judgment in that syllable, nothing to bolster the sinking guilt that Tsukishima has had ever since that morning when he didn’t say anything. He closes his eyes and breathes, feeling calloused fingers curl around his hand in a way that lets him continue his story.

“As it turns out, he knew anyway,” Tsukishima said, letting the words out slowly, in halting drops that made him wish it was raining outside. After all, it was raining inside. “He’d been hiding them from me. He always wears socks, you see? Even when we’re - well - when we were together in bed. I was such an idiot.”

“Love makes us do stupid things,” Kuroo says.

Tsukishima sucks in a breath, looks up and sees nothing but honest support in Kuroo’s dark eyes. Still, he can’t help but say, “Some people would say that it’s not love if you aren’t soulmates. Not really.”

“They’re the real idiots,” Kuroo murmurs, lips curling into a wry smile.

For a moment it hurts, because it takes him back to high school and all the feelings he’s gotten over because Kuroo is so very, very taken. Because of soulmate marks. 

Like the ones on Kageyama.

“Do you think,” Tsukishima murmurs, “do you think people with soulmates can love other people, though? Like, be in love with them?”

Kuroo sucks in a breath and leans back in his seat, fingers sliding away from Tsukishima’s hand and leaving it cold.

Swallowing, Tsukishima picks up the mug Kuroo had brought him and brings it close to his chest as he leans back, watching as Kuroo looks out the window. He wonders if Kuroo knew about how he’d felt all those years ago. 

If Kageyama knew and asked him about Kuroo -

No. Fuck, it hurts, but Tsukishima still loves the idiot in a way that drives a stake into his heart.

“I think it’s possible,” Kuroo finally answers, looking over at him. “For some people. I mean, I can’t - I couldn’t -”

A look passes between them that makes Tsukishima smile. “I never asked you to,” he says, watching as Kuroo gives him a look full of relief and self-deprecation. 

“I know. I appreciate it,” Kuroo says. “I mean -”

“You are in love with them. I’m just glad my friend is happy.”

“Happy,” Kuroo repeats, eyes flickering with an emotion that Tsukishima can’t quite read. “Ah, yeah. Well. Love isn’t all about happiness, is it?”

“Kuroo -”

“Your question, though,” interrupted Kuroo, emotion dropping away and replaced with something more objective, “ah, I think for some people yes? Especially if their relationship with their soulmate is platonic, or if they’ve settled things in their mind in regards to their marks? As strong as the pull is, I believe that our free will trumps whatever it is that gives us these marks. Destiny or whatever. I mean, even having the marks is no guarantee that things will be perfect.”

“That’s certainly true of Kageyama,” Tsukishima murmurs, heart hurting at the memory of pain in Kageyama’s voice as he spoke of Kunimi and Kindaichi. “He thinks they hate him.”

“But how does he feel about them?” asked Kuroo.

That was the question, wasn’t it?

“I think,” whispers Tsukishima, “that he wants to be with them. That he’d be with them if they let him. I think - I feel like a backup plan, something he latched onto because they weren’t available.”

“You should never be anyone’s backup plan.”

Tsukishima wants to kick him for that, and he hasn’t had a thought that childish in years.

“You’re an asshole,” Tsukishima murmurs instead.

Kuroo laughs. “You mean I’m the kindest, most honest person you’ve ever met,” he teases, making Tsukishima snort.

He appreciates the sentiment, however.

“I mean it though,” Kuroo says, reaching out again toward Tsukishima’s hand. “You deserve someone who wants you more than anyone else, who sees how incredible you are. That probably sounds trite or something, but man - you’re the type of guy someone should go all in for.”

“So you think I should break it off with him?” whispered Tsukishima, feeling like he was breathing through splinters of glass.

“I think that it sounds like neither of you was comfortable being honest with each other,” replies Kuroo. “And maybe - fuck. Maybe he didn’t want to risk the relationship by letting you know, maybe you felt the same way, but if you don't communicate, things break. Even if you are soulmates.”

That catches Tsukishima’s attention and he gives Kuroo a sharp look. “What happened?”

“This is about you -”

“What. Happened.”

“Kenma and Akaashi moved out.”

Staring at him, Tsukishima clenches his jaw as he processes the words. Now he understands the tired look in Kuroo’s eyes, the way Bokuto was asking about Akaashi on the phone. “Is it bad?” he asks, feeling stupid for even asking. Of course it’s bad. But there are levels to bad.

“It’s - ah. It’s probably temporary,” Kuroo says. “Hopefully. Bokuto has faith it is. Kenma and I - well it’s mainly - ah. Well. The thing about the marks is that it’s easy to take things for granted, to start believing your relationship is guaranteed. It isn’t, you know? Relationships take work, and I just fucked up, that’s all. We need space. Need to remember what’s important.”

Nodding, Tsukishima squeezes Kuroo’s hand and says, “If I can do anything -”

“You’re coming with us to the club tomorrow,” Kuroo replies, smiling. “That will make Bokuto happy. I want that. Want all of them to be happy, really.”

“Because you love them.”

“I do,” Kuroo says, closing his eyes and scrunching up his face. “I really, really do.”

It’s a depth of emotion that eclipses what Tsukishima is feeling, but for once he doesn’t feel that it’s because they’re soulmates. It’s because Kuroo is Kuroo, and Bokuto and Akaashi and Kozume - there’s a strength to their bond that reflects that freedom of choice Kuroo was talking about earlier. 

“I think Bokuto is right,” Tsukishima murmurs, lips curling as he sees hope flare in Kuroo’s eyes. “He’s good at cutting through bullshit to the truth, after all.”

Laughing, Kuroo smiles back. “He is, isn’t he? He’s the best.”

“Yeah,” Tsukishima replies, sucking in a deep breath and laughing again as he leans back in the booth. “Man, relationships suck.”

Kuroo chuckles. “They do,” he agrees. “Sometimes they really do. The good ones are worth it though, you know? And you deserve one of the good ones.”

Tsukishima isn’t sure he agrees with him, but it’s a nice thought.

A good thought.

But -

“I’m glad for what we have,” Tsukishima says, glancing up into Kuroo’s eyes. It’s right and true. This here is worth much more than any childhood crush, any dreams of what might have been. In another life - but they are here in this one. Here, Kuroo is a lifeline. 

“The feeling is mutual,” Kuroo replies. 

It’s a genuine authentic moment, but it’s stretching on almost too long when Kuroo looks down at the papers next to Tsukishima. “What are you working on?” he asks.

Grateful for the change of subject, Tsukishima says, “Analyzing the vertebral morphology of the Telmatosaurus transsylvanicus. It’s a type of hadrosaur.”

“Really?”

Falling into talking about his research is easy, and a welcome change from all the emotions. It makes Tsukishima even more thankful for Kuroo, especially since he knows that the other man’s interest in the subject in genuine.

Nevermind that the question is an obvious ploy to change the subject to something lighter than their previous conversation. After all, it worked.

It doesn’t lay to rest Tsukishima’s questions and feelings about Kageyama, but it helps remind him that his life isn't monolithic.

And also -

He doesn’t feel quite so alone.

~~~~~~~

Kunimi can’t stop thinking about the look on Kageyama’s face.

He shifts slightly, resting his head on his crossed arms and keeping his eyes closed, letting gentle pleasure wash over him as Kindaichi kisses down his back, thumb rubbing over his spine. Kindaichi loves to worship his body, trailing over his skin with palms and fingers and lips. He especially likes to lick at the spot just above Kunimi’s left hip, the one that fits perfectly under Kindaichi’s thumb while he’s fucking Kunimi from behind, the one that Kunimi can never help responding to, the one that sends teal and black feathers out along Kunimi’s skin whenever Kindaichi touches it. 

Kindaichi prefers to fuck him from behind or to have Kunimi ride him. Kunimi likes being on his back as well, legs pushed up, but normally Kindaichi is only comfortable with that when they’re being kinky - when Kunimi is wearing long stockings that hide his legs, or a blindfold to hide his eyes. Something to break their sight from the kanji on Kunimi’s thigh that spells out Tobio’s name.

Kageyama has always been between them. Well, the marks on Kunimi’s thigh and Kindaichi’s neck are signs he is supposed to be between them, with them, curled up here and a part of this. 

Kunimi knows he is the one who made sure that had never happened.

A hand with thick fingers curls around one asscheek and squeezes, pulling back and slapping lightly. Kunimi can never tell if Kindaichi knows when his mind wanders during sex. It isn’t like it matters, really. Sex is familiar between them now, filled with answers to questions asked years ago. Some days are just like this, with Kindaichi devouring his body greedily, marking him up for the sheer pleasure of being able to claim that Kunimi is his. 

Kunimi wonders if Kageyama would kiss him this fiercely. Wonders if he would bite down, if his thumb would press against Kunimi’s asshole this roughly, rough because Kindaichi knows Kunimi craves the edge of cruelty that Kindaichi enjoys dishing out. The thought of those hands on Kageyama’s skin, pressing bruises into his hips, making those pouting lips open in gasping cries - 

That makes Kunimi shift and draw in a breath.

Kindaichi pauses, curling a hand around Kunimi’s hip and tugging him onto his back. “Want to share?” he asks, studying Kunimi’s face.

Lips pursing, Kunimi considers, lifting a hand to cup Kindaichi’s cheek. He’s distracted by Kindaichi’s almost savage beauty, skin flushed, eyes dark with desire and full of watchful curiosity. Sometimes Kunimi shares, sometimes he doesn’t. They’ve had very nice conversations about sex during sex, moments when Kunimi will be inspired by some new fantasy or Kindaichi will confess a dark desire. 

But they’ve never talked about Kageyama in bed. They don't even discuss the soulmark, just work around it. But...

“I want you to fuck me like this, with my legs over your shoulders.”

The heat in Kindaichi’s eyes at Kunimi’s words shifts into thoughtfulness, a flash of fear blinked away as Kindaichi looks all the way down Kunimi’s body. He pulls up Kunimi’s right leg, gaze pausing on the kanji on Kunimi’s thigh. Kunimi wonders if the name written there will pass his lips.

It doesn’t, but -

“Do you mean you want him to fuck you like this?”

Kunimi does. There’s a whole box in his brain of things he wants to do with Kageyama, do to Kageyama, things he would want Kageyama to do to him. He doesn’t open that box. On some days he’ll come close, think about the more affectionate things he wishes he could do, think about memories of soft hair under his fingers on lazy summer days. In dark moments he’ll pull out those memories and use them to hurt himself, remind himself that he was the one who chose to destroy one of the boys he loved. 

It feeds a seed of self-hate that Kindaichi doesn’t understand but has learned to soothe with harsh slaps of leather on skin. They don’t talk about it. They fuck their way through it in scenes where Kunimi can cry without words because his mouth is gagged and he has the excuse of pain for his tears. Kindaichi probably knows. Kindaichi knows him better than anyone else in the world. That means he knows enough to be careful in how he pries.

And because Kunimi knows Kindaichi better than anyone in the world, it means he knows that beneath Kindaichi’s confidence lies a fear that he isn’t good enough, that someday everyone will leave. 

Turn on him, cut him off before Kindaichi had the chance to do the same, go on to excel and forget about him - just like they’d thought that Kageyama had. Though maybe...

But the past is still an open wound, maybe more so today because they had just seen Kageyama. When things had gotten intolerable, Kunimi had chosen Kindaichi over Kageyama even though he loved him both. Kunimi knew he didn’t - couldn’t - regret that choice, even if he’d never fully forgiven himself for the betrayal.

Fears were funny things, though. Kunimi knew that somewhere, deep down, Kindaichi was afraid that if Kunimi had the chance to do it over, he would choose Kageyama instead.

He wouldn’t, but that didn’t mean that in a corner of his heart Kunimi wished he’d never had to choose.

“I was thinking about you fucking him like this,” Kunimi confesses. Anxiety is a strange emotion to feel when he’s vulnerable, naked and spread out beneath his soulmate. 

Kindaichi stills, looking at him sharply. “Kageyama has a boyfriend,” he says guardedly, the words sounding foreign in this space and wrong in ways that Kunimi can’t even quantify.

“A boyfriend that hurt him,” Kunimi counters, hope an alien thing crawling up the inside of his chest.

The reminder makes Kindaichi angry, protective. Even if everything is broken, it confirms to Kunimi that Kindaichi still loves Kageyama no matter how much hurt lay between them. 

It’s enough.

He pulls Kindaichi down into a kiss that turns savage and leaves him breathless, arching up shamelessly and drawing his nails down Kindaichi’s back hard enough that he is probably drawing blood. 

Another reason Kindaichi rarely fucks him like this. 

Pulling back with a chuckle, Kindaichi murmurs, “Put your hands up.”

Obedience is an easy thing. A chosen thing. Kunimi could say no, but he loves the feeling of leather pressing around his wrists as he is fucked, loves the illusion of helplessness. He reaches up for the metal bars of their headboard, a rueful smile on his face as Kindaichi shifts and opens their bedside drawer, exposing the red lines carved into his back. Kunimi thinks they look good. Kindaichi only tolerates pain, he doesn’t crave it, however - especially the aftermath.

Kunimi wonders how Kageyama would look with -

Black cuffs are tossed onto the bed, distracting him and making his heart beat faster. Lube follows. He waits, expecting the black mask to follow, half-resigned to the thought. 

It never comes. 

“Tell me if they’re too tight,” Kindaichi says, strapping his wrists to the metal as Kunimi looks up at him in wonder. He loves the sheer power of his lover, power that comes out strongest in situations where Kindaichi is confident.

“They’re fine.”

Kindaichi gives him an unreadable look that makes Kunimi feel like he’s scrambling. Then they’re kissing again, plastic cap snapping and a slick hand curling around his length, pulling and twisting in a way that forces him to respond, leather cutting into his wrists in the most delicious way. Kindaichi never lets him settle into any sort of comfort, pinching the head of his cock between forefinger and thumb before moving down and tugging at his balls, swallowing Kunimi’s cries before roughly fingering him open. Enough. Just enough. It’s fast, and deep, and makes him feel like Kindaichi _owns_ him. 

It’s perfect.

Kindaichi pushes up and kneels between his legs, pulling them up and over his shoulders, left hand curled behind Kunimi’s knee while the other guides Kindaichi’s cock to his ass. “This is what you wanted?” Kindaichi growls, eyes dark with desire. “You want to get fucked like this?”

Kunimi’s gaze flicks to the kanji on his thigh and then to Kindaichi’s face, feeling vaguely perverted for imagining Kageyama here watching them together. Waiting, but invited to join. There is an utter rightness to the thought that makes him breathe out, licking his lips as he nods. “Fuck me.”

They share a smile before Kindaichi pushed in, not giving him time to adjust because he doesn’t need it, not really. He hungers to be taken, filled to the brim and then more, past what he can take. A forbidden thought worms its way into his head and he lets it pass through, focusing on Kindaichi’s face. Kindaichi is looking down between them where they are joined, fingers curling roughly around the back of Kunimi’s knees, lips twisting into a proud grin. Magnificent. He’s magnificent. Kunimi is suddenly overwhelmed with how _good_ it is to watch Kindaichi like this, driving into him, knowing just how careless he can be with Kunimi’s body and going only that far - but going that far. 

Kindaichi shifts one hand around Kunimi’s legs and leans forward, resting his arm on Kunimi’s chest and curling fingers around his neck. “You’re perfect,” he murmurs, thumb pressing against the underside of his chin. “Wanton. Greedy. Insatiable. You want both of us?”

 _Yes_ Kunimi thinks, blinking up at him. This is the closest they’d ever come to discussing things about Kageyama, about the kanji linking them to a too-familiar stranger. “I want you,” he says instead, still fiercely protective of this man above him.

“You have me,” Kindaichi whispers, thrusts slowing, hard and heavy as he presses in deep. “You’ll have me. As long as you want me.”

“I’ll want you forever.”

The smile Kindaichi gives him in reply makes him feel like he really believes Kunimi’s words, believes them down to his bones. “Ok, but do you want both of us?”

Kunimi gives him a smile in return, squeezing around him. “Is that what you want?”

It’s an admission and a question, all in one. Kindaichi tilts his head to the side, considering. “Maybe,” he says, more open than Kunimi had ever expected him to be. “But for now, I just want to make you walk funny.”

The eyeroll that Kunimi gives in reply is interrupted by Kindaichi’s next thrust. A thumb slips up into his mouth, holding it open for Kindaichi to ravage with hungry teeth and lips and tongue. Onslaught. Kindaichi is an onslaught. Hard. Heavy. Rough. Perfect. More, more, too much - or maybe it’s just that Kunimi feels more open, vulnerable to everything Kindaichi is doing, taking, pushing, being. Being perfect. Being everything. Being Kindaichi, his Kindaichi, his soulmate and lover and best friend and ...

Thought escapes him, eclipsed by sensation and color and sound. He breaks apart over and over, a thousand pieces held together by Kindaichi’s hands, pushed further apart by his cock, his mouth, his weight. Over and over, being melted, molded, bruised, purified, until it’s too much too much and Kindaichi murmurs the words that let him completely fall apart, the world fading to black.

He wakes to cool water through a straw at his lips and a wet rag sliding over his skin. 

“Do you think Kageyama likes chocolate?” Kindaichi asks, pausing in his ministrations to turn to the bedside table.

“Milk chocolate,” Kunimi replies, smiling.

That makes Kindaichi laugh. He turns, slipping a piece of the dark bitter chocolate with toffee bits that Kunimi prefers into his mouth, fingers gentle as they caress his cheek. “Maybe I’ll have to buy more, then.”

Kunimi wonders.

It’s a good feeling.

But then everything still feels good right now. Soon, he knows, the ache will come. He swallows the pills Kindaichi gives him, lets himself be guided to a warm bath, enjoys the way Kindaichi takes care of his body now that it’s so thoroughly wrecked.

It’s good, it’s good.

As he fights drifting off again he is reminded of Kageyama’s face, of the ache in his heart at the pain there. A part of him wants to protect Kageyama forever from that pain.

A part of him is scared that if they try, everything will fall apart again.

Ah well. There’s time enough to worry about that later.

Kindaichi gets him up out of the water and washes him off, half-carrying him back to the guest bedroom, laying him down on soft cool sheets.

“Sleep,” he whispers, kissing Kunimi’s forehead and curling up around him.

So Kunimi sleeps.


	3. Move

Kageyama kind of hates his apartment.

It’s too cold. There’s a rattly window in the corner of his bedroom that always lets in a draft. Hinata had taped it up one day, but the tape peeled off and got grimy with dust and dirt. Flawed. Maybe it suited him.

All the food in the fridge had been either moldy or crusty. Kageyama had only noticed this morning. Last night had been full of tears and frustration that ended up in a dead sleep. The lack of milk for breakfast had clued him into the need to shop this morning.

He’d bought far too much junk food.

He sucks on a packet of chocolate milk, feeling numb as he halfway watches a documentary about shipbuilding. He doesn’t like ships. Well, they’re alright, it isn’t that he dislikes them, but - well - he supposes nothing will actually hold his interest today. 

His phone is face down on the coffee table his mother bought when he moved in. Tsukishima’s coffee table is shorter. Honestly, Kageyama never really understood the necessity. He bangs his shin against it when he stands to go grab the packet of gummy worms, curses under his breath.

The chime of his phone just adds to his annoyance, and he opens up the text without even really looking at the sender as he rubs his leg. The first thing he sees is a huge cow face and a carton of milk. For a moment he thinks it’s just some strange advertisement that is particularly targeted toward his tastes, then he sees that the sender is Kindaichi.

It makes him sit back down.

There are no words. It’s just the picture, some e-coupon for half off a gallon of milk at a chain of stores in the area. It almost makes him sorry he’s already gone shopping today - he got milk, of course, and this coupon expires in three days. It seems -

He isn’t sure how it seems.

He doesn’t know what to do. Should he say thanks? Send him a selfie of himself drinking milk? No, Kindaichi wouldn’t want one of his selfies - does Kunimi know that Kindaichi had sent him a milk coupon?

Tsukishima would have never sent him a milk coupon.

Then again, Tsukishima always made sure to have milk in his fridge, even though he’s lactose intolerant.

The fact that it took him so long to think of Tsukishima makes him feel guilty again. Nevermind that he’d woken up in the middle of an argument with the other man, trying to wrestle through their issues. He’s terrified that Tsukishima will think he’s been playing him this whole time, that he’ll think he’s unimportant. He wishes he could change himself.

He feels guilty for being glad he can’t.

Everything hurts.

The stupid smile on the cow’s face makes him sigh, distracted again. Scrunching up his nose, he settles on it as a problem, a problem that needs a solution, because he doesn’t want Kindaichi to think he’s just going to sit there and ignore him.

So he pulls up a browser and does some searching.

He finally finds a place that is supposed to have some of the best roasted corn in the area. It’s a small shop near a park. Kunimi likes parks. They have a lunch special too, even on weekends. He finds a picture of an ear of corn with its hands on its - well not hips because corn doesn’t have hips corn doesn’t even have legs, but - sides, announcing the daily specials, and takes a screenshot before sending it back to Kindaichi in reply.

 _Thanks_ Kindaichi says after a few minutes.

Kageyama thinks that’s it.

He flips over to Tsukishima’s messages, torturing himself by reading back over them. They’d been talking back and forth about some anime he thought Tsukishima would like, about a psychic who is constantly burdened by his powers. The main character reminded him of Tsukishima. They had planned to watch it together this weekend.

Kageyama always felt proud when he could find something that Tsukishima actually enjoyed. There was a smile that Kageyama was pretty sure no one else got to see when Tsukishima was happy. It was soft and rueful, thoughtful. It always made him feel like the best person in the world when he could make Tsukishima smile like that.

He doubts Tsukishima will ever trust him again.

He gets up and gets a glass of water and the gummy worms, debates calling Hinata. Documentaries sound safer. Maybe he can pull out the DVDs of some of their old matches. Third-year nationals - he’s still in awe of the way that Tsukishima had played that game, the way he’d blocked the ball their final game and earned the match point to win them the title. Tsukishima was incredible. No, Tsukishima is incredible, even if he hasn’t stepped foot on a court in years.

Maybe he can call him up and apologize -

His phone dings and he frowns at the message.

_Sunday?_

It’s from Kindaichi again, and Kageyama has no idea what he means.

He almost texts Kunimi to ask him. Kunimi was always the smartest of the three of them. Before things had really blown up, Kunimi had been the one to step between them, filling in the gaps of conversation when he and Kindaichi’s communication had broken down. Kageyama remembered being almost thankful for how Kunimi had translated his frustration into words that made more sense. He was pretty sure he’d come to almost rely on it, trusting he could say anything to Kunimi and he’d know Kageyama didn’t mean for him to take it personally. He’d noticed Kunimi pulling back a bit the last few weeks before that one game, becoming more and more guarded, but he’d just assumed it would pass. Things would be fine. It would be the three of them forever. He just wanted them to be their best, after all -

And then -

He doesn’t text Kunimi, not with the memory of Kunimi’s disdain so fresh in his mind. To stand there and see one of the people you love most in the world glancing at you like you were nothing to them, like you were strange for being so upset -

He swallows, forcing himself to think about the last time he’d seen Kunimi’s face. The gentle, thoughtful, almost wistful smile. The way his hands had flexed open and then curled around his coffee cup. 

It helps. Not quite enough, but it helps.

Giving up, he texts back a quick _Sunday?_.

 _For lunch?_ Kindaichi texts back. _Ah, we’re busy tomorrow, but if that day doesn't work_

Kageyama blinks.

_did i misunderstand?_

_No_ Kageyama texts, fingers slipping on the letters of his keyboard. _lunch is good. Sunday is go0od_

_good. Maybe at one?_

_ok_

Kageyama feels like holding his breath.

He feels like pinching himself.

There are too many emotions swirling around for him to name, so he decides to skip that and go back to learning how ships are made.

Two days. Two days until the impossible happens.

He wonders if Tsukishima is going to call.

~~~

There are too many people in the club. Tsukishima knows this, knows that it will be worse on Saturday night. He’s grateful to see Kuroo standing at the bottom of the stairs that lead to the VIP area. 

“Glad you came,” Kuroo says as the bouncer unclips the chain that separates the VIPs from the normal crowd. It crosses Tsukishima’s mind to be thankful that he, a mere commoner, will be allowed into the area reserved for the upper crust. The sight of the reason why he’s allowed in diffuses any bitterness at the thought, though.

“Tsukki!” Bokuto yells, racing toward them as they came to the top of the stairs. His hug is completely expected and of course still takes Tsukishima aback, all force and muscles and unchecked affection. He feels awkward as he hugs him back. Bokuto doesn’t care though, just pulls back, looks him in the eye, nods and looks at Kuroo. “Did you see them?”

Them. Well, of course.

“Not yet,” comes Kuroo’s soft response.

The light in Bokuto’s eyes flickers a bit and Tsukishima braces himself, waits for the crash. He’s pretty sure that Bokuto has been in love with Akaashi since before they’d discovered their soulmate marks, Akaashi the same. Tsukishima feels a wistful jealousy for the depth of their relationship. Akaashi had been a brief crush his first year, but he’s sure everyone alive had gone through that phase. 

Kozume - well. That had been a whole other phase of jealousy. 

The sting of it had faded as he spent more time with the other man, though. 

“Are you expecting them?” Tsukishima asks. 

“Yeah!” Bokuto says.

Kuroo’s look is more guarded, and Tsukishima almost kicks himself for asking the question.

It’s been a few months since he’s hung out with the four. They’re still in their normal corner booth, the one with a secluded curve where Kozume could curl up and play his games, shutting out the noise and chaos of the club while Akaashi dances and Kuroo and Bokuto watch the crowd below. 

The booth is big enough for five or six people. It feels empty with only three.

Bokuto pauses with his hands on the table as Kuroo and Tsukishima slide into the seat, gaze lingering on the spaces meant for Akaashi and Kenma before turning a smile on Tsukishima. “Strawberry Daiquiri?” he asks.

Tsukishima nods.

“We invited them,” Kuroo says once Bokuto is gone. He has to lean close to be heard over the music. “I don’t know that they’ll come.”

The dark circles under Kuroo’s eyes underscore how hard this is for him. “If they come, I can leave,” Tsukishima says. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“No!” Kuroo says, giving Tsukishima a searching look. “No, no. You - honestly it might be good to have you here. Kenma likes you.”

That is a surprise. Him? Kozume likes people like Bokuto and Hinata and Tora. Fukunaga too, he knows, but still - people who were funny and did the talking so Kenma didn’t have to, at least that’s what Tsukishima had thought. They’ve barely even talked.

But it isn’t like Kuroo to lie.

“Alright,” Tsukishima says, looking down at the way the club lights flickered across his hands where they rested on the table. Kuroo was close. 

It’s nicer than Tsukishima wants to admit.

“Alright! Here you go - Mojito for Kuroo, Daiquiri for Tsukki, and Sex on the Beach for me!”

Bokuto sets the drinks down and then slides into the other side of the booth, scooting around so he can sit on the other side of Tsukishima. That seems a little odd - but then again, this is Bokuto, and Kuroo is somewhat close to the end of the seat.

“Ok, time to check out the dancers, yeah?” asks Bokuto, picking up his drink and making a bit show of turning around to peer out at the crowd. It makes Tsukishima want to roll his eyes, but he picks up his drink and follows suit, seeing Kuroo copy their actions like he is just going through the motions. 

Clubbing had never been something he thought he would enjoy. He’d come out on the night that Bokuto celebrated being recruited to the Arrows. Akaashi had dragged him out onto the dance floor and Tsukishima found that he liked it quite a bit - the anonymity, the press of bodies, the music like a drug in his veins. He’s always loved music he can get lost in. Bokuto could always be counted on to be far more outrageous than Tsukishima could ever be. Kenma gave him a space to rest and breathe. Kuroo made sure he never got too lost, made sure he was safe. They’d never let him feel like he didn’t belong, and for a time, it was something he was happy to do on this weekend or that. 

He’d fallen out of the habit when he and Kageyama started getting more serious.

Kageyama hadn’t enjoyed the club. The press of bodies made him feel awkward and uncomfortable, and he could never let himself get lost in the music. Then again, Kageyama rarely lets himself get fully lost in anything.

The thought hurts, and Tsukishima takes a long drink.

He notices golden eyes looking at him rather than the dancers. “So,” Bokuto says, “Kuroo tells me that you broke up with your boyfriend.”

Kuroo sputters, making an inelegant noise that is an almost welcome amusement to balance out Tsukishima’s internal horror. “I did not say that! I didn’t tell him that, Tsukki - I didn’t say that. I might’ve told him you were having a hard time -”

“Because your boyfriend has two soulmates that he’s in love with and didn’t tell you about them?”

“Kouta--” Kuroo says, breaking down into sputtering coughs that actually worry Tsukishima for a moment. 

He pats his friend’s back, leaning over to look into his face. “You ok?” he asks.

Kuroo nods, blinking away tears as he looks back. “Ye-yeah,” he chokes out.

“I wonder about the whole soulmate thing,” Bokuto continues, acting like he’s oblivious to everything going on with Kuroo. “Could I fall in love with someone who wasn’t my soulmate? Hmm...”

Narrowing his eyes, Tsukishima looks over at him, trying to swallow down the flash of rage trying to escape his lips. “You don’t have enough people to be in love with?”

If it was anyone else -

Tsukishima hears Kuroo’s indrawn breath, but Bokuto just gives him a strangely canny look and continues on. “I know I’d still be in love with Akaaaaashi,” he mused, holding up a hand and ticking it off. “I mean, even if I had other marks, or no marks, or he had other marks, I know I’d always be in love with Akaashi. I mean, it’s Akaaaaashi.”

That’s really no surprise.

“But Kenma? Huh. I think if I slowed down and looked at him, I would’ve fallen for him. He’s just - he’s amazing,” Bokuto murmured, making Tsukishima almost strain to hear. “But I wonder sometimes if he would’ve fallen for me.”

Bokuto’s shoulders hunch at that, and it’s the first time tonight that Tsukishima has seen the effect the separation is having on him. It hurts more than Tsukishima expects. This isn’t like a bad mood on the court. It reveals something deep that Tsukishima can’t put words to. He opens his mouth to protest, but Kuroo beats him to it with a soft exclamation of Bokuto’s name.

“And then there’s Kuroo. Who needed a mark to know that, eh, bro? Ah, but that doesn’t mean I don’t wonder, sometimes. Like, who says you can’t fall in love without something written on your skin? Something slow, maybe. Something you don’t expect, that happens because it’s the way things work out, not because of some destiny. That would be just as real as anything else, yeah? I mean, you’re in love with Kageyama, right?”

It's as unexpected as a cross and Tsukishima fails to block it, feeling it hit home even if he should’ve seen it coming. Bokuto is unpredictable, though. His words - if Bokuto was anyone else they would be cruel, but Bokuto doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. Tsukishima almost wishes he did, wishes that he could look away from Bokuto’s gaze, from the eyes of a man that he knows cares for him. 

“Yes,” Tsukishima says, thinking of Kageyama on lazy mornings where they curl up on the couch and watch cartoons. He remembered how excited Kageyama had gotten over Voltron. The way Kageyama sent him goofy selfies - not goofy on purpose, but just because Kageyama was naturally awkward and couldn’t seem to take a good selfie if it killed him. They were still saved as favorites on Tsukishima’s phone. He thought maybe he should unfavorite them, or delete them, but even the thought hurt. “I am. Or was. I think... I think him not having marks... I gave myself permission to think...”

But of course, Kageyama actually did have marks.

Kuroo’s hand is rubbing his back. Tsukishima knows it’s meant to comfort. Knows neither of them mean to hurt him. It does, though, the words, the actions, the closeness - it all compounds his present pain and the pain he’s buried and unearths it to the point that all he wants to do is forget. He hopes Bokuto isn’t as perceptive as he’s acting right now.

The daiquiri is empty.

“Do you guys, uh. Want to go out on the dance floor?” Tsukishima asks. This space is too close. Too hot. Too full of impossible things.

“Sounds good,” Kuroo says. He sets his glass down. It’s still a quarter full but Tsukishima doesn’t think he cares. The space he leaves as he gets up is cold, and Tsukishima moves toward it, ignoring the way Bokuto’s hand curls around his shoulder to push him out the booth. He’s not really a touchy-feely person, but Bokuto plays by his own rules.

He always has.

The music is good. Oh, it has the obligatory sugar-sweet pop songs that everyone knows, but at least they’ve been well-mixed. Bokuto and Kuroo stay close to him as he moves to the beat. He watches bodies as he moves, sees the flash of neon band-aids that are all the rage among people who want to pretend like they don’t have a soulmate somewhere out there, waiting - or maybe out at a club like this, looking for something nameless and transient that involves nothing but sensation. 

Tsukishima has never quite understood hookup culture.

He understands the music, though. Three songs in, Kuroo catches his attention. Tsukishima looks over and sees Bokuto bolting off the dance floor toward a dark-haired man walking toward the VIP section like he owns it. It eases something in Tsukishima’s heart, and he shakes his head when Kuroo asks him with a wave if he’s ready to come off the dance floor and join them.

Some moments should be private.

And it’s easy to get lost in the song, looking over occasionally to see what’s happening. Bokuto hugging Akaashi. Kuroo walking up to the two of them, looking around for their fourth. Akaashi shaking his head. Bokuto leaving. Kuroo and Akaashi walking up the stairs to their table.

The look on Kuroo’s face as he gazes at Akaashi - Tsukishima isn’t sure who he’s jealous of, isn’t sure why he’s jealous. He misses Kageyama fiercely. He wants a mark so badly, wants to belong with someone, belong to someone. Its irrational. He hates the idea of ownership. But -

He turns away, unable to look at the two of them any longer.

There’s a bar next to the dance floor and so he pushes through bodies to get to it, squeezing in between the wall and a man with black hair that vaguely reminds him of Yamaguchi's. “Strawberry Daiquiri?” he asks the bartender.

The man next to him looks over. “Interesting choice,” he says.

The voice is somehow familiar.

Tsukishima looks over. He knows those eyes from somewhere. Work? Class? 

“Ah,” says the man, lips curling into a smirk. “They let crows into this place.”

“Foxes too,” replies Tsukishima, remembering what the man had looked like in a black uniform. He tries to remember the man’s name, but only recalls moments on the court, battles of wits that had been strangely satisfying. “Tsukishima Kei.”

“Suna Rintarou,” the man replies.

“Ah.”

Tsukishima glances down. Suna’s arms are bare, a series of colorful circles trailing up his arm. There’s no way that anyone has that many soulmate marks. It seems excessive, almost a waste of bandages, but Tsukishima isn’t going to judge.

“Your drink is very decorative,” Suna says. “Let me buy it for you. You know, honor the champions and all that.”

Tsukishima hides a scowl as he looks at the pink concoction the bartender sets in front of him, glad that the darkness of the club hides the flush in his cheeks. “You prefer shots or something?” he asks.

“If you’re interested, why not.”

There’s something dangerous in the depths of Suna’s eyes. Something reckless in Tsukishima’s head. He’s angry and frustrated and wants to take it out on something - or just get drunk and do something stupid. 

Suna is a stranger, but he’s always been an honorable opponent. 

Tsukishima glances over his shoulder and sees Kuroo leaning close to Akaashi. He swallows. He can just go back and join them. But -

Turning back, Tsukishima smirks at Suna, letting himself really look the other man over. “Why not,” he replies.

A flash of triumph and hunger crosses Suna’s face and Tsukishima welcomes it. Tonight, he wants to get lost.

He wants to forget.

He wants to just _be_ \- even if only for a few hours.

The first shot burns his throat, but the second is nothing but perfect.


	4. Hold (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, for the second scene of this, the Kuroo one.... [Remmy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Remembrance) (friend who is also an incredible author/check out his stuff) threw out this song when we were chatting, and it provided a ton of inspiration: [Let Me Down Slowly, by Alec Benjamin](https://youtu.be/50VNCymT-Cs)
> 
> I actually have a whole playlist for this story? Some of them are linked [here!](https://twitter.com/Kaiyou_sea/status/1021747213054164993)

The door in front of Bokuto is somewhat familiar. He’s been there in daytime for cookouts and birthday parties. Never been there at eleven o’clock at night with alcohol on his breath.

Does Ushijima even like alcohol?

Swallowing, Bokuto forces himself to press the bell and wait for someone to answer. Maybe Hinata. Probably Ushijima. He doesn’t know which one he’d prefer. His hands are sweaty, and he almost hates the fact that two of his boyfriends have been holed up here for the last few days - hates the fact that he knows that Hinata would let both of them stay for months if they wanted.

He wonders if that’s what they want, if that’s what Kenma is going to tell him, if -

Well.

On the one hand, he trusts that Akaashi wouldn’t send him over here just to get hurt. On the other -

Sometimes it’s better to pull the band-aid off and get things over with. But if Kenma is going to tell him they’re through, he’d rather hold on to false hope.

The door opens and it’s Ushijima standing there, face covered in some turquoise goop. It’s so unexpected that Bokuto just stares at him, forgetting what he’s supposed to say.

“Ah,” Ushijima says. “Bokuto-san. You’re here to visit Kozume-san?”

“Yes?” says Bokuto, heart pounding at the possibility spoken out loud.

Ushijima doesn’t seem to notice. He just steps back and allows Bokuto inside, leading the way to the living room. There are half-a-dozen towels laid out over the couch, and one over the coffee table that’s covered with little bottles and brushes that Bokuto isn’t familiar with. A show about English Gardening is on the TV. This is the living room of two of the top players for FC Tokyo? The whole scene is so outside of Bokuto’s frame of reference that he just stands there, only looking up when a new person comes into the room.

Not his person.

Hinata has that same turquoise goop on his face, cracking where his forehead is scrunched up. “Bokuto-san,” he says in a too-serious voice. “Are you going to behave?”

He’s very serious. Bokuto is reminded of the way Hinata had looked at him the night he’d first discovered Kenma was his soulmate for real. Hinata had been protective then too. He had probably been right. Bokuto had pushed too fast back then, been too excited about the possibility that the four of them were all linked together. Right now, though, the fierceness on Hinata’s face makes him falter, not sure what he’s doing wrong.

“Stop it, Shou,” says another voice from the doorway - a voice that Bokuto knows very well indeed.

Kenma looks -

Well, Kenma honestly always looks good. Right now, all Bokuto wants to do is gather him up in a hug, but he’s not sure that’s allowed. Kenma’s hair is all messed up. His roots have been bleached out. It’s still Kenma though, with golden eyes that look him over a moment before Kenma nods and looks down. “It’s just Kou,” he murmurs to Hinata, then looks at Bokuto. “Akaashi found you at the club?”

“Yeah! Ah, Kuroo and I were there with Tsukki. He’s having a rough few days.”

“Tsukki is?” Kenma asks, frowning.

“Yeah, he and his boyfriend are - well ex-boyfriend now, I guess, uh -”

“Wait!” Hinata interjects. “What? Ex?”

Oh yeah. Tsukki’s ex-boyfriend is one of Hinata’s best friends too, right? Kageyama? That’s complicated.

“Hmm,” Ushijima says. “Does this mean we are not friends with Tsukishima-san anymore?”

Bokuto blinks at that. Why would they not be friends with Tsukki? Would a breakup - he feels worried and confused until he sees the calm look on Kenma’s face. Maybe -

“What?” Hinata yells, rounding on his boyfriend. “No! Of course not! Well unless he did something really really, no, he wouldn’t, I think, and only if...”

“Does it mean that we are not friends with Kageyama-san anymore?”

“Never. I mean, I know Tobio can be an ass, and he - well - but we’re never not friends with him.”

“Alright,” says Ushijima, nodding. “May I ask when we are supposed to remove these masks, then?”

“Ah!” Hinata says, bringing a hand to his face and pulling back fingers covered with turquoise goop. He looks over at Kenma, who shrugs, then at Bokuto, then Ushijima, then Kenma again. “So that’s why you washed your face! You didn’t tell us he was coming over so quickly,” he accuses, pointing at him.

“Sorry,” says Kenma, not sounding sorry at all. “When I heard the door, I assumed it was him.”

“Hmph,” Hinata said, looking down with a furrowed brow, shoulders slowly slumping. “Well, alright then. Be safe, ok? I need to call Kageyama.”

“Alright, Shouyou,” Kenma replies, moving to the side as Hinata leaves the living room followed by Ushijima. Kenma and Ushijima exchange smiles before the taller man moves on, and then it’s just Kenma and Bokuto.

Bokuto isn’t sure what to say. His heart hurts just looking at Kenma. Ratty t-shirt with some video game monster on it, sleep shorts that barely hang past his knees, no socks Kenma.

“Are you ok?” Kenma asks, looking at him. “You’ve been quiet.”

Kenma is still hanging back near the doorway. Bokuto is scared to move, scared to do anything that will precipitate the words he dreads.

“You’re making my back hurt, Kou.”

“I’m sorry,” Bokuto says, swallowing.

Kenma sighs and moves forward, raising a hand and pressing it over Bokuto’s heart. Bokuto feels his soulmate mark pulse in response to the touch. It doesn’t activate, but it knows Kenma is there, close.

Looking up at him, Kenma says, “It’s ok. I deserve it.”

“Nothing should ever hurt you,” Bokuto says in reply, drinking in the sight of Kenma this close.

Kenma lets out a sharp laugh, looking to the side. “Sometimes you’re too much, Kou,” he whispers. “Sometimes you accept me too much.”

“I love you.” The words fall out of Bokuto’s mouth without permission, an inescapable truth.

“Yes. I know.” There’s a pain on Kenma’s face and it makes Bokuto afraid again. “It’s - its a lot, sometimes. I don’t know how to fight it. You just - you win, Kou. You always win.”

“I’ll lose for you if you want.”

Kenma looks shocked, then sad, eyes wide as he stares up at Bokuto. “Don’t lose me. Please.”

“I never ever ever want to lose you, Kenma.”

“Even if I -” Kenma starts, shaking his head. “You think too much of me. You should be more like Akaashi. He knows...”

“Akaashi?” Bokuto asks, feeling confused.

“Ah, nevermind. Will you come to bed with me?”

“Of course!”

“Of course.” Kenma sighs, but his hand slides down and carefully curls into Bokuto’s own, tugging him toward the hallway.

Bokuto isn’t sure what to do besides follow. Kenma is scaring him. He looks so fragile, and all Bokuto wants to do is gather him up and hold him, let him know everything will be ok. It will be ok, won’t it?

They enter the guest bedroom and Bokuto sees traces of Akaashi and Kenma all around like they’ve made themselves at home. He’s so unsure he doesn’t resist at all as Kenma pushes him down onto the bed, just scoots back, giving him room. There’s a soft touch and then Kenma is crawling into his lap, giving another sigh as he snuggles close, burying his face in the crook of Bokuto’s neck. “Will you hold me?” he whispers.

“Yeah,” Bokuto murmurs, feeling like he’s holding something as delicate as a bird. “Yes. Whatever you need.”

“Will you touch, ah,” Kenma replies, fingers fluttering on top of Bokuto’s shirt before they slide down and under, palm pressing against Bokuto’s heart.

The touch aches, but sweetly. Bokuto knows there are candy-cane swirls spreading everywhere Kenma touches. It tells him without words what Kenma wants, and he wraps his arms around the other man, letting one hand slide under Kenma’s shirt and cover the expanse of his lower back.

Shuddering, Kenma presses closer.

Bokuto can’t check the impulse to kiss the top of Kenma’s head. He worries, but Kenma just sighs, relaxing against him, and that makes Bokuto hope he didn’t screw up.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” Kenma whispers. “Sorry I said you always take Kuro’s side. I wasn’t mad at you.”

“It’s ok,” Bokuto says. He hates the memory of that fight. He’d walked in near the end of it. Isn’t even sure what it was about; Kuroo had just shaken his head when Bokuto had asked later. For Bokuto, the fight had just been two of the people he loved most in the world yelling at each other with words he never expected either of them to say.

“No, it isn’t.” Kenma pushed back, shifting to straddle Bokuto’s lap and looking at him.

He’s beautiful. Bokuto can’t stop thinking about it. He wants to lift a hand to brush the hair out of Kenma’s eyes, but he still feels hesitant, like he’ll trespass on something in a way that will make Kenma disappear.

Pursing his lips, Kenma tilts his head to the side. “Akaashi says I take you for granted too much. He says it’s cruel, that I know I can do and say whatever I want and you’ll still love me.”

“I will,” Bokuto says, heart beating fast with his fear. “I’ll always love you. You can do whatever you need to do. Even if you left me, I would still love you. I’d let you leave, but I’d still love you because you’re amazing.”

“Oh, Kou,” Kenma whispers, reaching up to cup his cheek. “I couldn’t leave you. You’re my joy.”

“Kenma...”

“Akaashi says I don’t say I love you enough. He says that I assume you know, so I don’t have to worry about saying the words.”

“I -”

“Hush. I love you, Bokuto Koutarou. I love you, and I will always love you. You are my Kou.”

“I am. I’m all yours, Kenma. Well, I mean -”

“I know. I’m yours, just as much.”

“Oh,” Bokuto breathes, relief washing over him. He watches as Kenma’s face scrunches up, lips trembling as he takes a little halting breath. It hurts, he wants to protect Kenma from anything that would make him feel like this.

“You were worried,” whispers Kenma, biting his bottom lip before continuing. “He was right, you were worried. Oh, Kou, I’m so, so, sorry.”

“It’s ok.”

“It isn’t. I was selfish and stupid, and - gah - you shouldn’t have to love someone who -”

“I do though,” Bokuto says, pulling Kenma closer. “I do love you.”

There’s a little hitch in Kenma’s voice as he says, “Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t.”

Kenma is clinging to him and shaking.

Bokuto holds him tighter, breathing in his scent. He closes his eyes, rocking back and forth as Kenma’s fingers curl into his shoulder, breath slowing as he calms back down. This is Kenma. Kenma is his, and he can give Kenma this peace. It’s hard and painful and amazing all at the same time, but in the end, it’s good.

He should savor this, rest in it. He shouldn’t do anything that might upset this but - “Do you still love Kuroo too?” Bokuto asks.

“Of course I do,” Kenma mutters. “Kuro is just an idiot.”

“You should tell him you love him.”

“Kuro can deal. I’m still mad at him.”

“That’s mean, Kenma,” Bokuto chastises.

“Kuro is Kuro. He knows -”

“He doesn’t. He’s scared. He's barely sleeping, and he won’t tell me what’s wrong - what did he do? Is it that awful?”

“No, it’s -” Kenma pauses, and pushes back, eyes wide and voice small as he says, “He’s scared? You were both scared? Am I that - How could you think - how could either of you think -”

Oh no. Kenma is crying for real this time.

Bokuto suddenly has an armful of sobbing Kenma, and it’s his fault. He should’ve just let things lie. Instead, he’s hurt the most precious thing in the world to him. Kenma is hiccuping and trying to catch his breath and it’s like a dam has burst inside him. Bokuto is scared that Hinata is going to come barging in yelling at him any moment now and it’ll be perfectly valid because he wasn’t careful enough, he pushed and pushed -

“I love you,” Kenma sniffles once the storm of tears starts to calm. “I love him, love Akaashi, love all of you. I’ve told you and asked you out and that should be enough why - I don’t know when to tell if it’s not enough - I’m awful, how could I hurt you, how could the universe pick someone like me to be with -”

“You’re amazing,” Bokuto counters, hugging Kenma tight. “And wonderful, and the most interesting person in the world. I would love you even if we weren’t soulmates.”

“Would you?” whispers Kenma, almost wistfully. “Would you love me even if you didn’t have to?”

“I would. And if you don’t trust me, just think of Akaashi. He doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do.”

That provoked a wet chuckle from the man curled up in his lap. “Yeah. Yeah, I suppose, maybe.”

“And Kuroo - you’re his heart, Kenma. His world. His brain -”

“Well someone needs to be since he’s not using his.”

Bokuto gaped. “Kenma!”

“Sorry.”

Kenma did, indeed, sound sorry.

“You should talk to him,” Bokuto urges, rubbing up and down Kenma’s back. “He needs to know.”

“I will,” Kenma whispers, fingers tracing patterns over Bokuto’s skin. “I will. Tomorrow. But Akaashi’s with him now. Akaashi will make sure he’s ok.”

“Akaashi’s good like that, yeah,” says Bokuto, tilting his head down to rub his cheek against Kenma’s hair. He takes a breath, sitting in this space, humming softly and letting all of the stress settle and fall off them.

Kenma’s sobs quiet and he matches Bokuto’s breath, moving together with him in perfect sync. It amazes Bokuto the amount of love he has for this man. When things calm, he takes another chance. “Will you tell me what the fight was about?” he murmurs. “You don’t have to, but...”

“It’s... it’s complicated,” Kenma says. “Kuro - for being so smart, it’s amazing how stupid he can be, denying something even though it’s right there in his face. I know it’s because he’s worried it’ll make me upset, but -”

“You’re already pretty upset,” Bokuto counters.

“Hah, yeah. And that’s - I just wish he could trust me. It’s like he’s always trying to be perfect, do everything to make us happy. I just want him to be able to be himself with us, too.”

Bokuto hums, thinking it over. He isn’t quite sure how that was a reason for a fight, but there’s probably more to it. Even among the four of them, there are secrets. That’s healthy. Akaashi is a private person, and Kenma’s right - Kuroo does have some things that he thinks about a long time before he actually sees them. He thinks back over the last few days without the other two, and then the space before, trying to see if he can see what Kenma sees but - well. It’s ok.

He doesn’t have to see everything.

Being here, holding Kenma, it’s enough to give him faith that things will fall into place regardless.

Nodding slightly, he lets his thoughts wander, thinking back over earlier that night. He’s worried about Tsukishima. Glad in a way? But only because Tsukishima never really seemed happy with Kageyama, and being with Kageyama had taken him away from them, and Bokuto didn’t like that. Tsukki was special.

“Do you think you could fall in love with someone that isn’t your soulmate?” he asks, frowning at the age-old worry that no one will ever really see exactly how special Tsukki is because they don't have his name written on their skin.

That causes an unexpected reaction. Kenma pushes up and frowns down at him suspiciously, narrowing his eyes before his expression clears to something neutral. “Where does that thought come from?”

“Worried about Tsukki,” Bokuto says. “He’s really amazing, but he was so sad today. I want him to be happy.”

“You -” Kenma says, looking exasperated. He shakes his head. “Huh. I should’ve - ah, but yes. I’m sure you can. Love is about choices and commitment and the way you think about a person, I think - not just these marks.”

“Ok, good.”

“Good.”

A smile spreads across Kenma’s face slowly, and Bokuto basks in it happily.

“I love you, Koutarou.”

“I love you too.”

“Let's get some sleep. I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty exhausted.”

“Yeah.”

Bokuto takes a chance and pulls Kenma down for a gentle kiss, heart full of thankfulness. They’re ok. More than ok. Kuroo is going to be ok too.

They’ll make it through this, and make it together, and the future will be bright.

He smiles as he falls asleep.

~~~~~~~

The constant thrum of bass in the club makes Kuroo weary. He should like it - does like it - but right now he just feels wound so tight he’s scared the world is going to snap.

Akaashi isn’t talking much, just checking his phone every now and again. Tsukki still hasn’t shown back up, and that worries Kuroo. He’d believed Kuroo when he said he could stick around if Akaashi and Kenma showed up, right? Every so often Kuroo turns around and tries to catch a glimpse of him on the dance floor. He sees flashes of blond hair, but its hard to tell who is who under the flashing lights.

“Are you sure you do not want to dance, Kuroo-san?” Akaashi asks. His voice is gentle and polite. Akaashi is often gentle and polite, especially when he’s come to a decision.

It makes Kuroo tense up and he shakes his head. “Not if you don’t want to,” he said. “I’m just wondering where Tsukki is.”

“Ah, Tsukishima-san,” Akaashi says, giving Kuroo a long look.

“Is it bad for me to be worried for a friend?” Kuroo snaps, wishing he could swallow back the words.

“No. But Tsukishima-san is an adult.” It’s stated as a fact, no emotion. There are words implied behind the words, some of which Kuroo knows and some he isn’t quite sure of. Akaashi is the hardest person in the world to read. It was frustrating on the court. At the moment, it makes Kuroo long for Bokuto’s clarity.

Even moments like these with Akaashi are worth it, though.

Kuroo just nods, pulling out his phone to look at it. He feels Akaashi press their legs together. Probably just shifting to get comfortable. He craves the touch like a starving man crawls after crumbs.

A new text comes in and he checks it too quickly, brow furrowing as he tries to decipher it. It isn’t like Tsukki to be unclear.

_ucn lv gon home@w frns_

“What in the...” Kuroo says, all but ready to get up and find Tsukishima himself.

“Hmm?” asks Akaashi, pulling the phone from Kuroo’s hand and frowning at the screen. “Well, that is unfortunate. I was looking forward to seeing him tonight.”

“What? Do you think he’s been kidnapped? Maybe someone drugged him?”

“Maybe. Probably not, though. It looks like he’s just a bit drunk and going home with friends - or a friend, typos aren’t uncommon when you’re drunk. At least, so I’ve heard.”

Kuroo blinks, thinking of some of the truly spectacular typos and texts - and photos - that Akaashi has sent him while drunk. “I... guess? It’s not like him to just leave without saying goodbye, though, and he was upset...”

“Like I said, he is an adult. Even Tsukishima-san is allowed to be a bit out of character when he’s vexed. Here, I’ll just send this back to him, will that make you feel better?”

No one but Akaashi can make Kuroo feel like such a child.

He takes the phone from Akaashi and reads the message. _Be safe. Call us if you need anything. Don’t forget to drink water._ It’s so obvious that he’s sure Tsukki will know that the message is from Akaashi and not him. Oh well.

It doesn’t make him feel better, but he’s already feeling pretty bad.

“Well,” Akaashi says, “Now that Tsukishima-san is taken care of, did you want to stay for a while or go home?”

Home.

Home is an empty place right now, filled with sharp-edged echoes of angry words and empty chairs and cold spots in his bed. Home is filled with confusion and waiting and failure.

Kuroo’s home is his people, and anything without them is just an echo of what home is supposed to be.

“We can if you want. Go, I mean,” Kuroo says, shrugging.

Akaashi just nods and follows him out of the club.

The cab ride back to their apartment is silent. Even the driver doesn’t talk, other than confirming their identity. Silences between Kuroo and Akaashi aren’t rare, but normally they’re comfortable. This one just makes Kuroo feel like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He replays the words he’d said in the fight, the anger and frustration he’d let come to life in his replies to what Kenma had accused him of. Hell, he isn’t even quite sure what Kenma had accused him of, not really. He can’t - doesn’t - his breath feels tight even thinking about that sense that Kenma thought he’d betrayed him.

That he wanted to.

He catches Akaashi looking at him and shakes his head, turns to watch out the window until they reach their building.

They are silent on the stairs.

“Do you want anything?” Kuroo asks as he opens the door to their apartment.

“Ah, I don’t think so,” answers Akaashi, slipping his shoes off and moving past Kuroo to bend over and brush his fingers over the expectant head of one of their cats. “Hello, Miko. I’ve missed you.”

Kuroo tells himself it’s irrational to be jealous of a cat.

He moves to the kitchen and fixes himself a glass of water, listening as Akaashi pads down the hall toward the bathroom. All the tension that had been building rebounds on itself. They aren’t in public anymore. If Akaashi has something to tell him, it will be here.

What if -

He closes his eyes, trying to breathe.

What if that fight with Kenma was the last straw? What if Kenma can’t take it anymore - can’t take him anymore - what if he’s too much of a risk? People get to a point where that happens, he knows. Where even if you care about someone, it’s not worth the possibility of pain. What if that’s what happened with them? He was too desperate, too angry, panicked and said things that made Kenma think he needs to cut ties for good. Akaashi is rational, he’d go along with it. Bokuto loves him yeah but if it was the choice between Kuroo and Akaashi? Especially if Kenma was involved? Especially if Kenma was hurt?

He hears the water turn off in the bathroom and forces himself to take a drink, trying to steel himself for what Akaashi will say when he comes through the door.

It will be gentle, he knows that. Gentle, and firm, and apologetic - but final. Kuroo will probably beg and try to change his mind - what’s dignity and pride when the loves of his life are on the line? But it won’t change anything if Akaashi has made up his mind.

He hears footsteps behind him.

“Kuroo-san, do you mind if I - what?”

Swallowing, Kuroo blinks, trying to keep himself together. He turns and fails. “Please don’t leave me,” he whispers, trying to forestall the inevitable.

“I... oh, Tetsurou,” Akaashi says, freezing in the doorway. He curses under his breath. “I’m such an idiot.”

Kuroo shakes his head and turns, tries to hide his face.

He wants to curl up and disappear. He feels Akaashi’s hands on his shoulder, taking the glass of water and setting it in the sink, reaching up to brush the tears from his face. Sometimes Kuroo feels like such a poor excuse for a human being.

“I’m not leaving you. We’re not leaving you. Ah, baby did you - Testu, koi, we love you.”

“But I -”

“We _love_ you. I love you. It was just a stupid - fuck. Sometimes I could wring his - Tetsu, come to bed with me, can we go to bed?”

Kuroo nods dumbly, not sure what’s happening but more than willing to go with it if that’s what Akaashi wants.

Their bed is soft.

Akaashi tries to kiss his tears away, almost makes him cry harder with how gentle he is. Long thin hands push up at his shirt and he gives in without thinking, lets Akaashi strip him bare. It’s Akaashi. It’s easy to give Akaashi everything.

“I should’ve said something at the club,” Akaashi murmurs, pulling the covers over him as he crawls into bed. “I didn’t realize you were this worried. I was just - after the past few days, I think Kenma and I both needed peace and comfort. I was just thinking of myself, didn’t even realize... I thought you were just worried about Tsukishima.”

“I was,” Kuroo said. “Am.”

“He’s special to you.”

Kuroo looks away. “He’s just a friend, Akaashi. I don’t know why that comes up - I mean the rest of you are friends with him too -”

“You’re right, Tsukishima-kun is special to me as well,” Akaashi interrupts, curling fingers around Kuroo’s face, tapping his lips. “He’s special for all of us, I think. You don’t have to worry so much, koi.”

Guilt lies sour in Kuroo’s stomach, and he swallows, looking back at Akaashi. There are so many words fighting to crawl up his throat but he pushes them down, ignores them, lets them go away. The thought of Kenma - oh, that just redoubles his guilt and worry.

He’s trembling.

“Shh, shh,” Akaashi murmurs, curling close to him. The weight of Akaashi’s body is reassuring. Kuroo pulls him even closer, needing the contact, the connection. Akaashi kisses him like a promise, a reminder. It’s so easy to give into Akaashi’s hands, the way they stroke down his skin, pulling him to arch in response without even having to think.

It’s calming. This, he knows this, always craves it. Words are hard. Thinking is hard. Emotions are hard. But bodies - when Akaashi says he loves him with his body, a part of Kuroo is able to truly believe it.

Akaashi murmurs words of praise that have him crying but Akaashi’s lips are at the corner of his eyes, fluttering kisses over his forehead, down his nose to his mouth and chin and then lower. Akaashi is everywhere. Kuroo slides his hands down Akaashi’s shoulders, into his hair, urging, pleading, something - he doesn’t know. He’s a mess. He’s falling to pieces but Akaashi is there and holding him, keeping him safe.

“Are you mine, Tetsu?” Akaashi asks, eyes full in a way that makes Kuroo want to be empty just so he can take it all in.

“Always,” Kuroo whimpers.

It’s a relief, always a relief, such a relief to be in Akaashi’s hands like this. To let Akaashi take care of him. Akaashi can heat him up and make him melt easier than anyone he knows, and the shift is a welcome one. He lets the murmurs of love and adoration flow over his skin like a balm, opens his legs and doesn’t hold back as slick fingers press inside. He pulls Akaashi down into a kiss because he needs that. Needs to hear Akaashi groan against his mouth, needs to wrap his arms around Akaashi’s neck and cling to him, needs to cry out as he’s stretched open by curving fingers reaching deep.

Akaashi sits back on his knees and pulls Kuroo up, lets Kuroo slide his arms and legs around him, holds Kuroo’s ass with both hands as he lines up and presses inside. Deep, gravity makes Akaashi go so deep within him. Kuroo is crying but Akaashi is kissing his cheeks, his mouth, whispering adoration into his skin. Even with all of this he still feels the absence of the others but Akaashi has him. Akaashi is holding him. Akaashi says everything will be alright.

Kuroo moves with every breath, shifts his hips, every gentle thrust like waves rocking him into wholeness.

Pleasure comes. Pleasure always comes, with Akaashi. It’s warm and gentle, sweet like sugar on his tongue. Akaashi bites his neck, nails curling into Kuroo’s skin, pulling him under. He gives himself to Akaashi and doesn’t think about other hands. This is good. This is enough. This lays him bare and lets him fall apart, overflow, cry out as he’s filled with everything Akaashi. For a moment, he’s lost - except he’ll never be lost in these arms.

He knows he’s loved.

Even after, Akaashi takes care of him, strong and gentle. Water washes away all traces of his tears and hands leave him clean everywhere, guide him back into soft warm sheets.

“You never fail to amaze me, Tetsurou.”

The words are whispered into skin still damp. Kuroo is still boneless. He doesn’t want to think. Doesn’t want to do anything but be Akaashi’s beloved.

He smiles, looks up into watchful eyes, lets himself be kissed.

“Love you,” he whispers.

“Love you so much, my darling,” Akaashi whispers. He curls behind Kuroo, lips pressing to his shoulder like a brand. His arm where it curls around Kuroo is warm, and his leg resting on top of Kuroo’s legs is heavy.

The world is safe. Not perfect, but safe.

Kuroo feels like he can breathe.


	5. Raze (E)

“Good morning, princess.”

Tsukishima groans. His head hurts. He shifts, thankful nothing else aches, and tries to remember what he did the night before.

The eyes he meets when he looks on the other side of the bed are unfamiliar.

The man smiles. “Normally I don’t let people stay over, but it looked like you needed it.”

“Thanks,” Tsukishima says, looking around for his glasses. He’s in a plain bedroom with a king-sized bed and some volleyball posters up on the walls. He finds his glasses on the bedside table and looks at the posters again. The Atsumu brothers - they play for the Arrows too, he knew. 

“I think we kinda stopped part way through anyway,” Suna says, rolling over close to Tsukishima and leering at him. “Too many shots. Ah well, that was fun. You’re a hell of a dancer. Better than I would’ve expected.”

The words are irritating, but Suna is handsome. Maybe it’s the alcohol still in his system, but Tsukishima still feels that craving to make a mistake with him. On some level, he likes the provocation.

It reminds him of - 

But no, Kuroo is never this type of crude.

He has the feeling that Suna won’t be careful with him like Kageyama is. He won’t expect more, either. 

That makes Tsukishima’s heart ache, and that’s exactly the feeling he wants to escape, so he turns to face Suna head-on.

“I didn’t have many expectations where you were concerned,” Tsukishima says, glancing down Suna’s body. The sheet half-covers him, but he’s shirtless, potentially naked like Tsukishima is. The bandages from the night before have come off. He can still see the dirty circles on Suna’s arm surrounding blank skin. Well, not all of them are blank. There's a series of three circular burns near the inside of his elbow. 

“What?” Suna asks, glancing down. “Oh. Eh, childhood thing.” 

There’s a shadow that crosses his face that puts some of Tsukishima’s pain in perspective. “I see,” he says. “Most people use them to cover up their marks.”

“Ah, yeah. Nah. I just use em for decorations. You?”

“Markless.” Tsukishima feels an echo of shame as he says it, waits to see pity or judgment in Suna’s face,

Instead, the other just shrugs. “Cool, man. Good luck.”

Good luck. Luck for the possibility that Tsukishima will suddenly develop a mark. It happens sometimes, he knows - when you meet your soulmate, when you activate their mark of your name, a million things. It’s more a fairy tale than a reality though, especially at his age. Still, he appreciates the sentiment. “What about you?”

“Oh! Mine’s here,” Suna says, rolling over onto his back and pulling the sheet back. 

There’s a delicate kanji etched above his belly button. “Shinsuke?” 

“Yeah,” replies Suna, voice fond. “My Kita. I don’t know if you remember him, he was our captain the first time we played each other.”

Tsukishima doesn’t really remember the man, but another thought stops him, glad they hadn’t actually had sex the night before if his concern was true. “Your boyfriend?”

“Yeah! Oh wait, it’s not like that. Uh, we don’t - I mean, he doesn’t like sex. It’s too messy for him.”

“So you’re like.. Best friends?”

“Ah, yes and no? I mean, we’re dating, will do the whole candlelight dinners and shared vacations thing, we just don’t do this. It’s ok though, he knows about it.”

“He knows?”

Suna shrugs. “I didn’t call him up saying I was planning to get boned by Karasuno’s tall middle blocker if that’s what you mean. He’s just cool with me hooking up. Likes me to take care of my needs - and this way, he doesn’t have to be involved. As long as I’m safe he doesn’t have a problem.”

“Ah.” Tsukishima doesn’t quite understand it, but if Suna is cool with it, he supposes it works.

“What about you? Boyfriend? Girlfriend?”

Scrunching up his nose at the thought of a girlfriend, Tsukishima says, “No. Well not really.”

“Wait, I remember - a breakup, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Sounds like he was kinda an idiot, from what I recall of last night,” Suna murmurs, reaching over and tracing careful fingertips over Tsukishima’s shoulder. “I also recall you’re a hell of a kisser.”

Tsukishima sucks in a breath, tilting his head as the fingers wander up his neck and under his ear. Warmth pools in his gut, and he reaches over, curling a hand around Suna’s waist. “Better than you expected?” he teases. 

A smile is his only answer.

Suna is wider than Kageyama, stomach muscles more defined. He wonders if Suna still plays volleyball. “You were pretty flexible when we played,” he muses, flicking his gaze from Suna’s stomach to his eyes as he draws his hand down the center of Suna’s body, fingertips sliding over his belly button to the trail of hair that lay beneath. 

Lip curling into a grin, Suna says, “Still am. Good core strength too.”

It doesn’t take long for Tsukishima to find out that Suna is, indeed, naked. “So you want to be boned by Karasuno’s middle blocker?”

“Or whatever. I’m open,” replies Suna, chuckling. His hand curls around Tsukishima’s shoulder, pulling him closer. 

“Maybe not yet, but you would be when I finished with you.”

Laughing, Suna lies back. “Heh. Maybe I should fight you for it, pretty boy.” 

Tsukishima lets himself be pulled down into a kiss. It’s too much morning breath so he moves, nosing over to taste down down Suna’s neck as he slides his hand lower and curls fingers around Suna’s cock. He twists his hand, feeling Suna flex and arch under him, hissing out his pleasure.

“Maybe not,” Suna whispers, laughing. “Ok, there’s lube and condoms in the bedside drawer -”

“Get them,” Tsukishima orders, nipping Suna’s shoulder. “How do you like it?”

“You wanna fuck me from behind? I’ve heard I’ve got a great ass. Or I could ride you if you wanted. Wouldn’t mind looking down on you, kinda miss that view...”

“You want me to look up at you while I’m drilling you out?”

Scoffing, Suna says, “Do I want to watch your face while I’m rocking your world? Sure thing.”

It makes Tsukishima laugh and he lets himself be pulled in for another rough crash of teeth and tongue. Then they’re scrambling, hands curling and pressing into skin, rolling over on the bed until Tsukishima is on his back. When Suna reaches over to grab the condoms and lube Tsukki takes hold of him, nails dragging up Suna’s back and pulling him down again, fascinated by his expressions.

“Nails are good,” Suna grunts. “Want me to finger myself or you want to do it?”

“You know yourself best.” He’s suddenly uninterested in pushing his fingers into the ass of someone who is, for all intents and purposes, a stranger. It’s more interesting to watch Suna do it himself, arching his back and he reaches behind himself, hissing and biting his bottom lip.

Tsukishima reaches up and runs flat palms over Suna’s chest and abs. His anatomy is so different than Kageyama’s body. From what he recalls, it’s different than Kuroo’s as well - more tapered. Not as lithe as Akaashi’s wiry form, but thinner than Bokuto’s bulk. He’s not sure about -

“I swim,” Suna says, grinning down at him. “That’s why my shoulders are like that.”

“Not bad,” Tsukishima replies, hands ghosting up and over. He drags his hands back down, letting his nails drag over Suna’s pectorals, pinching Suna’s nipples. “Not bad at all.”

“You still keep in shape?” Suna asks, looking down at Tsukishima’s body. “Looking a little soft there. Too many pink fruity drinks?”

Rolling his eyes, Tsukishima says, “Not scrawny where it counts.”

Suna scoots back, humming a pleased affirmative as he palms Tsukishima’s cock. “Definitely right there. Gotta appreciate those big feet.”

It amuses Tsukishima, so he pinches Suna’s nipple again, enjoying the way the man’s hand tightens around his cock in response. He hands the condom to Suna, hissing his pleasure as the rubber slides over his cock and appreciating the fact that Suna uses one on himself. He reaches down and wraps a hand around Suna’s cock as the other man starts to lower himself down, appreciating the groan.

“Nice.”

“Safety first, remember? Plus it’s less mess.”

“Yeah.”

He curls his hands around Suna’s hips, sucking in a breath. The man is tight. Hot. Perfectly slick inside. The morning light coming in through the windows plays across his skin, showing the small hairs on his arms, the curve and dip of his muscles. Tsukishima presses his thumbs in along Suna’s hip bones, looking up as Suna’s hands slide over his arms.

“You feel good,” Tsukishima says. Sex with a stranger is strange. Good, but he isn’t sure what to say, how to best show his appreciation. He’d known how to balance sarcasm and support with Kageyama, known how to read Kageyama’s face to know when he was pressing too far or when he should dig a bit deeper. This was almost like standing on the other side of the court from Suna. He wasn’t sure where the limits are, or where he should go.

Nails. He remembered nails.

“I’m not going to break,” Suna says, smirking.

“Is that a challenge?” Tsukishima asks, returning the smirk. He doesn’t mean it though. He finds himself wanting to be careful, even if Suna is used to worse. That wasn’t what he expected. Maybe he’s just tired of playing rough.

Even if here it would only be playing.

Suna leans forward, sliding his hands up to Tsukishima’s shoulder and looking down at him, eyes curious as they scan over Tsukishima’s body.

It doesn’t take much for Tsukishima to pull his legs up and tilt his hips so that he can follow Suna’s body. The only thing he dislikes about this position is leverage, but it doesn’t take long for them to find a rhythm. Suna hisses when Tsukishima’s nails dig into his hips. It’s a good hiss. Tsukishima likes looking up and watching Suna bite his own bottom lip, close his eyes in pleasure when Tsukishima makes a particularly forceful thrust up.

“I thought you were supposed to be blowing my mind?” Tsukishima teases. He doesn’t really want theatrics. He likes the drag of pleasure with each thrust, the shifting landscape of Suna’s body as he moves.

Huffing, Suna says, “Shut up, princess. Maybe I’d rather just take my pleasure from this fucking cock of yours.”

It’s flattering. Tsukishima knows his cock is a respectable size, but it’s never been something he was particularly proud of; it's not like he had anything to do with it after all. He’s glad that Suna enjoys it. Drinks in every little gasp, every press of Suna’s fingers into his shoulders, the almost purr of Suna’s voice as he rocks down again and again.

There’s an easy happiness here. It almost feels precious, to be able to give this to Suna. Tsukishima knows that he’s probably one of a long line of men, but it doesn’t matter. In a way, it’s almost easier. He leans his head back and closes his eyes and just feels. Heat, tightness, weight. The sound of his cock sliding into Suna’s ass, Suna’s breathing, the huffy little sounds punctuating the rhythm of their movement. Suna’s hands curling and flexing, the way his muscles tighten and relax under Tsukishima’s hands. It could be anyone, maybe. Maybe it couldn’t. 

It couldn’t be Kageyama. It couldn’t be -

Other faces swim into Tsukishima’s mind and he chases them away, opens his eyes to look into Sunas, seeing amusement in the other man’s features. 

“This is good,” Suna whispers.

“Yeah”

“You wanna really fuck me?”

Tsukishima considers it. He likes this, the easy desire and reciprocation. He can’t deny the idea of getting to have Suna on his knees is a tempting one, though.

“Yeah,” he replies.

Suna laughs, then pushes himself up and off. 

Tsukishima’s cock is cold with the absence of Suna’s ass. He growls, reaching out and pulling Suna onto his knees, sliding in behind him and pulling open the cheeks to get a good look at Suna’s asshole. It still looks tight. Glistening, but tight. Frowning, Tsukishima reaches over and picks up the lube, making sure his cock is nice and wet and that the condom is on properly before pushing back in.

The sound of Suna’s shaky breath is music to Tsukishima’s ears.

“Better?” he asks, pulling back and then thrusting back in deep.

Suna curses. “Yeah. Well, the other was nice, but this -”

Another thrust cuts off his sentence, and Tsukishima smirks. He curls his hands around Suna’s hips and looks up his back. He can see a light sheen of sweat on Suna’s skin. Sliding one hand up Suna’s backbone Tsukishima pushes down, eyes lighting up when Suna keens.

“Ah - yeah - just like that. I can take it. Mark me up, push me down -”

“You talk a lot,” Tsukishima mutters. He leans forward, sliding his hand around the back of Suna’s neck and leans his weight into every thrust, snapping his hips. Sounds are falling out of Suna’s mouth now but they aren’t words, at least not in any language Tsukishima knows. He’s pleased to have made Suna speak it.

It is better this way. Hotter, and Suna squeezes around his cock every time, especially when Tsukishima finds the angle that makes Suna’s hands curl around the pillows. He’s doing this. He’s making Suna babble, making his mouth hang open, making him melt. 

Tsukishima slides his hand from Suna’s hip to his cock, squeezing and stroking despite the man’s half-hearted protests. It’s almost like an experiment now - a test of pleasure, to see how many sensations he can wring out of the man. There’s a flush spreading down from Suna’s cheeks to his neck to his shoulders and on down. Suna is getting close, Tsukishima can tell.

He wants to hold off himself. Wants to keep doing this, wants this feeling of power and skill. But it’s getting to be too much and he wants to get off before Suna does.

Faster and faster he moves, chasing his pleasure. For a few breaths, nothing in the world exists except for his cock, Suna’s ass, Suna’s desperate face. Tsukishima comes with a growl, pushing in deep to drink it all in, moving his hand over Suna’s cock and hissing as he feels Suna tremble and constrict around him, calling out his own climax. 

It gets to be too much and Tsukishima pulls out.

Suna collapses to the bed and Tsukishima falls down beside him. “Huh,” he says.

“Yeah,” Suna mutters, a long drawn-out syllable that doesn’t really say anything. Except it does, a bit. It lets Tsukki feel like he’s done a decent job at making Suna just a little bit boneless. Suna laughs, turning to look at him. “Was it good for you?” he asks.

Tsukishima hits him.

Not hard. Just with the back of his hand against Suna’s arm. 

He’s not sure he could manage more than that.

The sex had been good.

He hears a buzzing sound from the other side of the room, then the short sound that heralds a Kageyama voice message.

It sours his pleasure a bit, so he resolves to ignore it for now.

“Mmm, I like your cock,” Suna says, turning to blink at him.

Tsukishima smiles. “I’m rather fond of it myself.”

“Yeah, you should be,” replies Suna, yawning. “Tired me out a bit though. Not too much. Just a bit.”

Tsukishima laughs. “Who’s the princess now?”

“You are,” says Suna. “The princess come to rescue me from my boredom and fuck me into oblivion.”

It doesn’t quite make sense, but Tsukishima doesn’t want to argue it. Which is probably a good thing.

Suna is already asleep.

~~~~~~

Kageyama feels miserable.

He’s been putting this off. A part of him doesn’t want to see Tsukishima. Another part desperately does, but he’s so scared of how Tsukishima will react when he sees him.

He fidgets in front of a door that he’s unlocked a thousand times before, waiting for his boyfriend to answer the door.

Boyfriend? Is Tsukishima his boyfriend anymore?

The thought that Tsukishima is his ex sours his stomach more, and he scowls, unprepared for the slightly bored look on Tsukishima’s face when he opens the door.

“I tried gathering all of your school things together,” Tsukishima says, “but I may’ve missed something. Your handwriting is as awful as always. It’s a wonder your teachers don’t just toss it back in your face.”

“I type,” replies Kageyama, angrily sliding off his shoes and stalking past Tsukishima into their dining room. The dining room.

It’s neater than he remembers, and there are a few blank spaces on the walls that freeze the blood in his veins.

Oh. So.

Maybe it’s just temporary.

He looks through the papers, trying to find the handout with the assignment requirements on it that he needs for this Monday. He can’t help but glance around as he looks. The apartment feels emptier somehow. Home, this was home, this was becoming his home -

“Are you doing alright?” he asks, trying to keep the frustration from his voice.

Tsukishima’s laugh is brittle. “I suppose,” he said. “Went out to the club last night with Kuroo and Bokuto. Supposed to go to the museum today to help a friend. Working on my thesis. You?”

The mention of Kuroo and Bokuto gives him a slight pang of jealousy, if only because he’d always wanted to spend more time with them but had never really had the nerve. Especially if - “Was Akaashi there?”

“For a while.”

Kenma hadn’t been. Kageyama had talked to Hinata last night. Well, listened. Well, half-listened while playing a video game, Hinata had been doing a lot of yelling. But one thing Kageyama had gleaned from the conversation was that Kenma was staying over for some reason.

“I’m glad you’re keeping busy,” Kageyama says, pausing as he finds the right handout. 

Busy.

He thinks about what he’s been doing himself. Who he’s been talking to. He hesitates, glancing back at Tsukishima, scared to say his next few words because he knows it’ll upset him.

If there’s a chance that Tsukishima isn’t actually his ex, though, Hinata’s right. He needs to be more honest.

“Uh, I ran into Kindaichi and Kunimi the other day,” he mutters, looking at Tsukishima’s chest rather than meet his eyes. “They kinda invited me to lunch tomorrow.” 

Maybe - maybe he could take Tsukishima with him, maybe they could all just - he doesn’t know, just -

“That’s perfect,” Tsukishima says.

The bite in his voice makes Kageyama look up, wide-eyed. “I mean - maybe I could -” A shadow on the skin of Tsukishima’s neck makes him pause. “What’s that?”

Tsukishima’s cool facade breaks and a hand flies up to cover his neck. “Oh,” he says, looking at Kageyama’s feet. “Um, at the club last night -”

“You made out with Kuroo and Bokuto and Akaashi?”

It’s a crazy idea, but the flush on Tsukishima’s cheeks makes it more plausible. 

“No,” Tsukishima says. There’s a shift, and then he’s looking up, eyes defiant as they stare Kageyama down. “I met someone at the club last night and went home with him, and then I fucked him this morning. He was good.”

The paper in Kageyama’s hand crumples and cuts into his fingers where he’s grasping it too tight. “You -” It hurts, it hurts. He’d thought the idea of Tsukishima with Kuroo and the others hurt, but a stranger - “He was good?”

Better, is what he’s really asking, but he doesn’t want to know.

“Very good. He didn’t whine at all, either.”

It’s a low blow. It pulls Kageyama back to the days before when they’d curled up together and he’d cajole Tsukishima until the other helped him walk to the shower after sex. He wanted to remember the gentle smile on the face in front of him, not this awful chill. “Was it that easy?” he whispers.

It looks like Tsukishima might break at that, but he holds firm. “That easy to what?”

He hates the words that are going to leave his mouth but says them anyway. “That easy to replace me?”

Tsukishima sucks in a breath and then speaks. “Yes,” he says. It sounds like a lie. Kageyama wants to believe it’s a lie. Tsukishima doesn’t stop there. “After all, you’re doing just fine replacing me with your soulmates, aren’t you?”

“No,” Kageyama whispers. No, that isn’t what this is about at all. “I don’t want to replace you.”

Staring at him a moment, Tsukishima sucks in a shaking breath. Then another. The silence stretches between them until Kageyama thinks it’s going to break, and then Tsukishima says, “Too bad.”

“Please,” Kageyama says. “Please, fuck, I just - I wish we could just -”

“Just what?”

“Just - I wish you’d never walked in on me! I wish we could just pretend, just forget all this, just go back -”

“Back to when we were lying to each other and hiding things?”

Kageyama takes a step back, then leans forward, wishing he could just change the world with his words. “Go back to when we were together and happy!”

Tsukishima looks at him. The bored mask is gone now; Tsukishima looks rawer than Kageyama has seen him in years, almost as bad as the night he’d finally cried about losing Yamaguchi. 

“Were we ever really happy?” Tsukishima finally asks.

“Yes! We were! I want to be that way again!”

“I think,” Tsukishima says, looking down, “I don’t think you do. Not really.”

“But I do! Kei, I love you!”

Those are words they don’t throw around easily, or often. It’s hard to say them. Kageyama is desperate, reaching for anything he can, wanting home to be home again.

Wanting to see Tsukishima smile.

But all Tsukishima does is shake his head. “You have to know me to love me,” he whispers. “And love requires trust.”

“I -”

“I don’t. I don’t want this. I don’t like this. I don’t... I don’t want to talk anymore, Kageyama. Please go.”

Tsukishima looks tired. Kageyama did that. Kageyama hurt him like that.

He wants to beg, to plead - but he’s not sure what more he can say. 

He’s lost.

Turning, he picks up his papers and wraps them in his arms. He looks back once as he goes to the door. Wonders if he should say something more. If he could just find the magic words, find the thing to say that would make everything all right again, or at least set them back on track -

But Tsukishima hasn’t turned to watch him. He’s just standing there, arms crossed, fingers pressing into his skin hard enough he’s probably leaving welts.

So Kageyama leaves.


	6. Try

The entrance to the museum is calming, familiar. Even so, Tsukishima almost wishes he hadn’t come. He’s not quite sure what to make of the man standing near the guest booth, looking at the guidebook in his hand.

“Good afternoon, Kozume-san,” he says as he gets closer.

Kenma freezes and looks up at him with wide golden eyes. It only takes a second for him to calm down and nod a greeting, but Tsukishima has known him for years. Kenma tightens his hands on the guidebook and then relaxes, saying, “Thank you for meeting me here, Kei.”

The familiarity would be strange except that it’s Kenma. Kenma calls all his friends by their first name except Kuroo, and even he has a nickname. Tsukishima has thought about asking him to stop, thought about actually calling Kenma by his first name, but if he was going to do either of those he thinks it would have happened a long time ago.

“Well,” he says instead, “your offer sounded so intriguing, how could I not?” Kenma had contacted him asking if he would show him around for some game his firm has planned. Even though Tsukishima was intrigued by the idea of a realistic video game featuring dinosaurs, he also wouldn’t’ve let just anyone waste his time. 

Then again, Kenma isn’t exactly just anyone.

Ducking his head, Kenma huffs out a little laugh. It feels like an achievement. 

As far as Tsukishima knows, the only people that can make Kenma laugh on a regular basis are Hinata and Fukunaga, maybe Akaashi. Maybe Bokuto. It’s also nice to see Kenma’s shoulders relax, to see him stand up a little straighter and take a good look around. 

“Well, you know more about this than I do,” Kenma says. “I want to make sure we don’t mess things up, and getting you to show me around made the most sense.”

“I’m flattered. Do you have anything specific you want to see?” Tsukishima asks, nodding to the person working the guest booth before guiding Kenma back toward the first gallery. 

Kenma hums. “I’d like a general overview, I think, just to put things in context. The game is tentatively planned to be set in the Cretaceous period in North America. We want it to be as accurate as possible - I know people are always making new finds and that there’s a lot of speculation about what things are actually like, but authenticity is important.”

Tsukishima nods. He is suspicious about Kenma’s true motives for this visit - how can he not be? A part of him wonders if the four of them are conspiring to keep an eye on him, make sure he’s ok. Maybe Akaashi will invite him out to tea tomorrow.

It isn’t an unwelcome thought.

As bothersome as it is, it’s nice to know that he’s cared for, even after he fell out of spending too much time with them. He glances over at Kenma as they walk, wondering how things are going between him and Kuroo. That thought brings up a whole mess of conflicting feelings.

But Kuroo loves Kenma. Kuroo has always loved Kenma, Tsukishima knows that.

Honestly, if Tsukishima pushes aside the remnants of his jealousy, it’s not hard to see why.

“So these trilobites, they lived a few million years before the Cretaceous period, right?”

“About four-hundred million years or so, yes,” Tsukishima replies.

He watches Kenma move forward and study the fossils on display, reading the placards. Kenma is careful, methodical. Sometimes he jots down notes on a tablet. He asks questions that are intelligent even if they reveal his lack of knowledge and the occasional misconception, and he listens carefully to Tsukishima’s explanations.

It’s... almost easy.

It isn’t often that Tsukishima gets to introduce someone to his passion. Well, there’s the occasional tour group that he guides as a part of his internship here. Normally those are full of bored adults and kids who think they know more about dinosaurs than he does because they’ve seen a few movies. 

Kenma is different. His eyes brighten as he watches Tsukishima explain, and he remembers things. He puts things together. When they get to the Cretaceous displays he really lights up, asking tough questions that wipe away any doubt Tsukishima has about this being a real project and not just some excuse to babysit him. The thought that all his effort isn’t going to go to waste is rewarding.

“Here,” Tsukishima says, leading Kenma toward a door at the side. “There’s more I can show you in the back, just watch your -”

“Eh?” Kenma says, turning to look just a bit too late. He’d been half-turned around looking at the display of the Gallimimus. Tsukishima wasn’t sure why that one fascinated him so much, maybe because it was fast.

There’s a step up at the doorway and Kenma misses it. His eyes go wide. It’s instinct that has Tsukishima stepping forward to catch him.

The tablet clatters to the ground.

A heartbeat passes by, then two, and Kenma is warm.

“Ah, thank you,” Kenma says. He looks up with wide eyes, then pulls back, rubbing at the top of one foot before picking the tablet back up.

“Is it broken?” Tsukishima asks.

Kenma shakes his head. “No. Akaashi made me get a Lifeproof case for it, so it survives most things.”

“Akaashi is smart.”

“Yeah,” Kenma says, a smile flitting across his face. “Plus it annoys Kuroo when I take Akaashi’s advice after he’s been bugging me to do the same thing, so that’s fun.”

Tsukishima laughs. 

It escapes him almost without permission. In his head, it’s so easy to feel like an outsider with these four - but this feels -

“It’s too bad that Gallimimus only lived on the Asian continent,” Kenma says, straightening up. “I like the fact that they feathers.”

“Mongolia,” Tsukishima corrects. The statement distracts him from trying to analyze his emotions, and he racks his brains for an alternative to the Gallimimus. “Ah, I think there were other Ornithomimidae found in Canada a few years ago. Let me see if I can find some research.”

“It’s just a whim, Kei. I don’t want you to go to any trouble.”

“Now I’m interested.”

He glances over and sees Kenma’s lips quirk up. It makes him even more motivated to find out about ornithomimids. He wonders for a second if this is something like how Bokuto feels when he goes above and beyond to please Kenma. It’s a foolish thought but he’s happier in this moment than he’s felt in a while, so he lets it go.

Leading Kenma down the hall and into his office, he says, “There are some books over there. The one by Holmes isn’t bad. A bit old and geared toward a non-academic audience, but it’s alright as a jumping off point.”

“Thanks.”

Tsukishima turns to his desk, powering up his computer to try and find a relevant article. Ah, 2016, that isn’t too outdated. He skims the precis and smiles. “Ah, here we go,” he murmurs, glancing over where Kenma is perusing the books. “Rativates evadens. They’re smaller, maybe two meters long and less than a meter tall, hmm. And there were some other ornithomimid species in North America too, mmm, like Struthiomimus and Ornithomimus, you could look into them too. See here...”

“Hmm. Interesting,” Kenma says, coming up close behind him and leaning over to read. The hand he places on Tsukishima’s desk is smaller than Tsukishima’s own, and he’s close. He smells vaguely of cinnamon. It reminds Tsukishima of Akaashi.

It brings up thoughts that are disconcerting but also welcome, and he breathes them out as he starts to tell Kenma more details, explaining the terminology as they go deeper and then pulling out a pad of paper to sketch out some possible details. Kenma pulls up a chair and sits close as they talk, asking about the other species that would’ve lived in the area. 

Talking with Kenma is easy.

He doesn’t have to talk down to him, or couch his words carefully so that Kenma can catch on - well, not more than once. Kenma is smart. Tsukishima isn’t sure he’s ever appreciated just how smart he is, though after everything in high school he should’ve. Exploring things with Kenma is almost like being able to gallop when he’s normally held to a trot.

He’s momentarily distracted when Kenma places a hand on his arm when leaning forward to ask a question about a specific detail on the computer screen. 

“I mean - it’s like this, right?”

Tsukishima swallows, peering down into Kenma’s face. “Yeah,” he says, throat suddenly dry. 

Kenma glances down at his hand and then up, curling away to lean back in his chair. “Good,” he says. 

There’s a look on his face that makes Tsukishima feel like he’s the subject of some investigation. He feels like there’s something going on that he’s utterly clueless about. It’s not - bad. Confusing, but then again, well -

He’s always known that Kenma is a bit of a mystery. 

There are more questions and more discussion, but Tsukishima can’t help but be aware of Kenma’s nearness and the fact that they’re alone in his office. He tells himself he’s being foolish. Nothing that Kenma has done is anything more than simply friendly. He keeps getting distracted by preposterous thoughts and wonders if he should feel guilty about them, but he doesn’t.

It’s like he’s seeing Kenma for the first time.

Well, not the first. Kenma has slowly become his friend over the past few years, even if that friendship has mainly been in conjunction with the others. This is just, hmm.

It’s nice.

“You’ve been a huge help, Kei,” Kenma murmurs once they come to a stopping point. “I never would’ve even thought about things like this before.”

“My pleasure.” Tsukishima glances at the clock. More than two hours have flown by, and he barely even felt it. 

Kenma hums. “I may ask you to do this with me a few more times as the game develops. Might be able to find some funds for you as a consultant, if you want. Or I can just pay you in strawberry shortcake.”

Tsukishima smiles, stomach growling. “That might be acceptable,” he teases, leaning back. The thought of spending more time with Kenma is not a bad one at all. It’s like -

It’s like he’s been reminded who he is, who he really is. It’s good.

A phone buzzes in Kenma’s pocket, and he checks it. “Ah. Evidently Akaashi wants me home for dinner,” he mutters, nose scrunching up before he brightens. “If you want, I can ask if you can come?”

There’s an almost sly look on Kenma’s face. Something tells Tsukishima that he probably shouldn’t take Kenma up on that offer - not yet. 

Especially if Kenma hasn’t talked things through with Kuroo. The last thing he wants to do is intrude. “Not this time,” he says, almost laughing at Kenma’s pout.

“Soon then,” says Kenma.

“Alright.”

Tsukishima hasn’t felt quite like this since High School, the few times that he’d had Kenma’s gaze on him instead of Hinata during one of their games. It makes him feel strangely energized and calm at the same time. This isn’t a game, though - he’s not sure what it is, but he trusts Kenma.

It makes him smile.

He helps Kenma gather up all the sketches and notes they’ve made and emails him a list of the links they’ve acquired as resources before guiding him to the door of the museum. 

Dinner, he thinks, will be on his own.

He doesn’t mind that. At lunch, he’d felt the absence of others keenly, but now - well. He doesn’t feel lonely at all.

It’s good.

~~~~

Cracking eggs isn’t hard.

Pursing his lips, Akaashi carefully flicks a finger and sighs in satisfaction as the shell splits open obediently. There. That isn’t so hard. Stirring the eggs on the other hand...

He scrunches up his nose as, once again, he fails to get the rhythm needed and spills the concoction everywhere. And then, of course, there is the deadly task of flipping the omelet without burning it.

A part of him hates this game. Another part is absolutely determined to master it. After all, if he can’t master the recipe in-game, how will the others actually trust him in the real kitchen?

He purposely ignores the fact that the brown circle melted into their counter and the smoke alarm they had to replace last month are probably reasons enough for them to never trust him alone in the kitchen again. After all, things can change. People change. Someday...

The quiet crack of the door distracts him from the abysmal one-star rating he’s earned, and he looks up and sees Kenma’s golden eyes peering into the apartment. 

Kenma slips his shoes off and looks around, pursing his lips at the sounds of rap songs and singing coming from the kitchen. A smile softens his face before his gaze sharpens, and then he’s stalking over towards Akaashi with his eyes on the prize.

Hiding an amused smile, Akaashi closes the 3DS and slides it into his pocket. “Kuroo-san is in the kitchen with Bokuto-san.”

That makes Kenma pause and take a breath, emotions flitting over his face at a lightning pace. He ducks his head and glances toward the kitchen then decides to slide onto the couch next to Akaashi, leaning against his side.

Akaash sympathizes. He won’t relent, but he can be patient - even if Kenma has dug this hole himself. 

“How was your meeting with Tsukishima-san?” he asks instead.

“Good,” Kenma murmurs, fingers tracing patterns on Akaashi’s jeans. “He’s more relaxed one-on-one. It might help that he doesn’t suspect anything.”

That almost makes Akaashi take back every lick of sympathy, but he just rolls his eyes and makes a soft noise of agreement.

Kenma hums. “He’s smart. Really loves his dinosaurs. I may see if I can get him on as a consultant for the game.”

“You’re actually making it then?”

“Well of course. I wouldn’t lie to him, Akaashi.”

“Ah.”

“And I’d get to spend more time with him. I like him. He’s interesting.”

Nodding, Akaashi says, “Hinata interesting? Fukunaga interesting? Akaashi interesting?”

“Mmm, Kei interesting, I think.”

The warmth in Kenma’s voice reassures Akaashi that his boyfriend isn’t just playing a game. He knew it was true, but Kenma is far too much of a cat sometimes. The knowledge that Tsukishima could probably match him under most circumstances isn’t reassuring here. They’ve all seen the emotional roller coaster Tsukishma has had to ride, know something about his past.

Tsukishima is very special to Akaashi. He never would’ve agreed to play along with Kenma’s little plot otherwise.

“I think,” Kenma murmurs, nails dragging over jean fabric, “that you should invite him out tomorrow. Or sometime this week.”

The thought is an appealing one, almost more so than Akaashi wants to admit. Tsukishima has always been one of his favorite kohai. The fact that they’d all stayed friends as adults had been lovely and Akaashi has to admit he misses him. 

“You’re the most manipulative person I know, Kozume-san,” Akaashi says, glancing down.

Kenma nods, humming softly. “Even if none of this pans out,” he whispers, “I think he could use his friends right now.”

“Even if one of those friends wants to seduce him?”

“Possibly seduce,” Kenma says, pinching the fabric above Akaashi’s knee. “I just... I could see myself falling for him. I want him to be happy. It’s not...”

Not just about Kuro. Kenma doesn’t say the admission out loud but Akaashi hears it, wonders how much of this comes from Kenma seeing through Akaashi’s own affection for Tsukishima. Not that Kenma would ever admit as much - 

But Kenma is nothing if not clever. It’s exasperating, but Akaashi trusts his motives enough not to be truly bothered. 

He watches as Kenma’s hand blatantly slides over his legs toward his pocket and gently lays his own hand over it. “You’re going to need to talk to him sooner or later,” he murmurs, changing topics entirely.

The little huff Kenma gives in response makes Akaashi smile. Kenma is far from a child, but Akaashi doesn’t mind indulging him once in a while with these little games.

“Hey Akaaaaaashi, do you think Kenma would want - oh hey Kenma!”

There’s a clatter from the kitchen at Bokuto’s shout from the doorway, and Kenma pulls back, a flash of fear in his eyes before he slowly stands.

Akaashi turns. Bokuto has stepped out into the hall, a soft smile on his face.

Kuroo stands framed with the kitchen light behind him, looking hopeful. It makes Akaashi’s heart ache. He remembers the utter pain in Kuroo’s voice the night before, the worries he’d confessed this morning. Sometimes he wondered if Kuroo and Kenma were too close, too easily wounded by each other’s words. Even within the relationship of the four of them Kuroo and Kenma had their own private world, much of it unspoken.

“Hello, Kuro,” Kenma murmurs, stepping around the couch towards him.

“Hey.”

Kenma reaches up, cupping Kuroo’s face in both hands as Kuroo puts a hand on his waist. There’s a softness in Kuroo’s eyes that makes Akaashi finally relax. He’d known it would be ok. Believed it. Hated things had to go as far as they had - but Kuroo and Kenma are Kuroo and Kenma.

“Do you want help in the kitchen?” Kenma asks.

“You can have my job, Kenma!” Bokuto says, smiling wide. “I was just making a salad.”

“Bokuto was just - yeah. Ok,” says Kuroo, giving Bokuto a grateful look.

Nodding, Kenma says, “We should have strawberry salad sometime.”

Oh, too soon Kenma, too soon.

Kuroo doesn’t notice, though. He just nods, hand sliding so that he can intertwine Kenma’s fingers in his own, a smile on his face as the two of them wander back into the kitchen.

It’s enough.

“Hey,” Bokuto says, coming around and looking down at Akaashi before taking Kenma’s spot. “It’s ok, yeah?”

“Yeah,” murmurs Akaashi, letting Bokuto put his arms around him, letting him hold him close. It’s ok. Home is ok.

He lets Bokuto kiss him, sinks into it a bit. Bokuto always grounds him.

Pulling back from the kiss, Bokuto says, “Are you two plotting something?”

Those golden eyes are so open, trusting even if Bokuto is smart enough to sense that something is going on. Akaashi debates telling him everything. If things don’t work out though - he doesn’t want to get Bokuto’s hopes up. But... “Maybe.”

Bokuto grins. “Good something?”

“If it works,” Akaash admits, looking down at the lips he wants to kiss instead of continuing this conversation.

“You’ll make it work,” Bokuto says, grin widening. “The two of you can do anything!”

Akaashi laughs. If only everything in the world was easy to achieve because of the fullness of Bokuto’s faith - it should be. He hopes it will be. People are complicated, though, and Tsukishima is precious. Could he fall in love with him? Oh, yes.

But only if it doesn’t hurt Tsukishima.

Akaashi leans against Bokuto and slides his arms around him, breathing out a deep breath. Greedy. They are all so greedy. Kenma - well, Kenma just wants all to be right in his world. Akaashi isn’t sure that’s possible. Sometimes, he knew, compromises are a part of life.

But maybe.

They eat chicken cutlets and rice in front of the television, watching some owl documentary that Bokuto has been saving for a special occasion. Akaashi isn’t sure this qualifies, but he’s not one to argue with Bokuto over something that makes him so happy. Kuroo and Kenma curl up together on the loveseat, Kuroo chiding Kenma to eat all his vegetables. Akaashi notices that more green things than normal disappear from Kenma’s plate.

He wonders if they’ll talk about what happened. 

He wonders if it matters.

He and Bokuto are left alone before the documentary is over, but he’s pretty sure Bokuto doesn’t mind.

Even if it means they have to do the dishes.

~~~~~~~

The steady tick of the kitchen clock is reassuring to Kindaichi. It’s a silly black cat that he and Kunimi bought on a whim when the went on vacation to Osaka. Its tail hangs down and swings from side to side each second, and its black eyes move back and forth in time. The cat is always joyful, its red mouth open wide in a grin.

It makes Kindaichi happy, even if Kunimi sometimes rolls his eyes. Kindaichi knows he likes it. The occasional grumbling about how the cat is watching them is just a part of Kunimi’s character. Kindaichi wonders what it would be like if they got a real cat. Or maybe just some cat ears.

The thought amuses Kindaichi, and he looks back down to the puzzle he’s working on, brow furrowing as he searches the grid of romaji letters for the words below. He’s unsure of the meaning of most of them, but Kunimi says this will help him learn to recognize them, so he persists.

He wants a better grasp of the English language. It’s important to Kunimi.

Their front door opens and Kunimi calls out that he’s home.

Kindaichi calls out a welcome home in reply and sets the puzzle to the side, getting up and going to the fridge to pull out the plates of ingredients he’d prepared earlier. “Chicken teriyaki alright?” he asks, looking back as Kunimi stalks into the room and drops down at the table, resting his head in his arms.

He takes the slight wave of Kunimi’s hands as assent and smiles, oiling their wok and putting the sliced chicken in to cook. Sauce goes in next, and then vegetables. For a while, the only sound in the kitchen is the hiss of bubbling oil and the scrape of chopsticks over metal.

“I hate Americans,” Kunimi finally grumbles. “They’re loud, and obnoxious, and irritating, and can’t keep their hands where they’re supposed to be.”

That makes Kindaichi glance back.

“The scrolls,” clarifies Kunimi, waving his hand again. 

He looks tired, but that will pass. Kindaichi knows Kunimi loves his job at the university’s library, he just hates being pressed into service as a guide for VIP foreigners simply because his English is impeccable. He also knows that Kunimi actually likes America and Americans and American history; the mini-shrine they have to New York City in the corner of their living room attests to that. It had been one of their favorite vacations, taken to celebrate Kunimi finishing a year of study in the states.

Someday they’ll have to go back.

Kindaichi wonders if they’ll have to purchase three tickets for that trip. The thought of introducing Kageyama to American idiosyncracies makes Kindaichi smile. 

Maybe they can make a side trip to a dairy.

He lets Kunimi vent about his day as he finishes fixing dinner, setting two plates of chicken and rice on the table along with two glasses of water. “I hope it’s good,” Kindaichi says. “I made extra for lunch this week.”

Kunimi smiles, reaching out with his free hand to curl his fingers into Kindachi’s as he eats. 

It’s a bit awkward to eat left-handed, but it’s worth it. Makes him wonder what would happen if Kageyama joined them. Maybe he’d just have to shove his face in the plate.

He laughs to himself at the thought, and Kunimi gives him a curious look.

“What?”

“Just a silly thought,” Kindaichi says.

That makes Kunimi smile. He pulls their hands up to kiss Kindaichi’s knuckles and lets out a content sigh as he continues to eat.

Kindaichi wonders when he should tell Kunimi about what they’re doing for lunch tomorrow. He’s reasonably certain Kunimi will be fine with it. If not, he can always go alone - but he thinks Kunimi is ready, maybe even more than he is himself. After all, Kunimi invited Kageyama to get coffee. Kunimi has definitely been fantasizing about having Kageyama in their bed.

There’s a difference between fantasizing about something and actually doing it though, and an arranged lunch is different than a spontaneous coffee.

“I have a surprise for you at lunch tomorrow,” Kindaichi finally says, giving Kunimi a speculative glance.

Kunimi pauses, giving him a long look. “Does it involve the egg?” he asks, nose crinkling.

Kindaichi laughs. It’s a tempting thought - but he’s very certain that Kunimi would not forgive him for making him wear _that_ during a lunch with Kageyama. “No.”

“Hmm. Is your sister making one of her whirlwind trips into town?” 

“No.”

“Did you -” Kunimi starts, pausing and looking down before Kindaichi can read his face.

Was that a flash of hope?

He hopes it’s hope.

“Sounds good,” says Kunimi, picking up another piece of chicken and continuing to eat.

Kindaichi smiles, trying to look reassuring as Kunimi gives him a glance with an edge of worry. He loves Kunimi. Loves how Kunimi loves him, how gentle he is with Kindaichi’s heart. 

A few years ago, the thought of getting together with Kageyama would’ve been impossible. It was too easy to be jealous of Kageyama, of his good looks and success at volleyball and the way he and Hinata Shouyou worked in a way that Kindaichi had never been able to replicate while captain of Seijou. They had been so good, especially their senior year. Kindaichi had been so angry when he found a mark on his neck with the name of the man he’d never be able to beat.

Watching the way Kunimi’s hand had sometimes strayed to the mark on his thigh - that had only inflamed his frustration, his insecurity.

Maybe he’d needed this time apart.

The time to find his own place, his own peace. To find something that he is truly good at, in a way that doesn’t involve competing with anyone.

“You have a big order to finish this week, don’t you?” Kunimi asks.

“Yeah. Two tables. Suzumeda-san is finishing up the detail work on the benches, and the center said they may have some restoration work for us depending on how this works out; they have some wooden screens that are a bit worse for wear. I told them it wouldn’t be a problem to match the stains.”

“Good,” says Kunimi. “Ah, do you want me to do the dishes?”

Kindaichi raises an eyebrow. It really shouldn’t be a question - it’s only the plates, two glasses, the wok and chopsticks. But Kunimi is good at being lazy and trying to get away with things.

Oh, he loves him so much.

Giving a little laugh, Kunimi stands, clearing the table and humming to himself as he starts the water. 

So so very much.

Glancing at the puzzle on the corner of the table, Kindaichi gets up as well, rubbing the back of Kunimi’s neck a moment before moving to pack up the leftover chicken and rice. He should be able to make it stretch to at least two days worth of lunches, maybe three. 

He wonders if Kageyama likes teriyaki chicken.

He wonders...

Well, perhaps they’ll find out.


	7. Wake (E)

Sunlight is streaming in through a crack in the curtains, illuminating the russet swirls of color on the bedspread that Kuro’s mother had bought him when he first moved into the apartment with Koutarou. It will creep up over Kenma’s arm soon unless he moves. He doesn’t want to move. Not yet.

He waits a few minutes, feeling gentle warmth crawl up over his fingers, glistening in the hairs on his forearm. He can hear Kuro’s heartbeat, calm and gentle, somewhat muted but still present as Kenma rests his head on Kuro’s shoulder. This place feels like home.

Sleeping with Koutarou is different. Kenma normally wakes up using Koutarou’s arm as a pillow, pulling his other arm to his chest as Kou curls up behind him, snoring into his hair. With Keiji, Kenma is often the big spoon; curling up around Keiji’s body and whispering away any nightmares that threaten to invade his lover’s dreams. 

He’s been sleeping with Kuro far longer than the other two, though - innocent sleeps, childhood moments where they tumbled together after days of playing outdoors or running around making their mothers crazy on stormy days. Afternoons where they curled up under the kotatsu, stomachs full from apple pie and hot chocolate, waking with drool-stained faces to the sight of camera flashes. Rides home on buses after training camps and practice matches and tournaments.

They have so many memories between them. Kenma doesn’t know how he messed up enough that Kuro would ever think he wanted to break that.

He sighs through his frustration at his inability to fully grasp the fractured landscape that is human interaction, then breaths a prayer of thanks for Keiji. 

Sliding his hand up, he lets his fingers trace carefully over Kuro’s skin, thumb brushing the kanji of his name just below Kuro’s ribcage. It pulls a streak of a watercolor petal out from the mark, crimson staining the skin. Kenma lets his fingertips dance, tilting his head up to watch as more petals of blue, purple, and green follow the first, blooming from each touch he makes on Kuro’s skin. It’s a pale echo of the jewel-tone rainbows Kuro’s touch raises on his own skin. Then again, Kuro has always been bolder, stronger, more confident.

Except when he’s not.

Kenma suddenly isn’t sure what to do with the depth of his emotion for this man. He bites his lip, a part of him wanting to flee from the fact that he’d hurt him. 

Then fingers are intertwining with his own and he looks up into eyes a darker echo of his own, clearer and brighter.

“Hey,” Kuro murmurs, and suddenly everything’s ok.

Kenma smiles, nose crinkling at the sour smell of their breath. “Hey,” he answers, squeezing Kuro’s hand and then letting go, reaching up, running fingers through Kuro’s hair. “Your hair defies nature.”

Kuro laughs, shifting so that his fingers are loosely linked together in the small of Kenma’s back, pulling him so that Kenma is half-lying on top of him. “I keep telling you it’s my superpower.”

“One of them,” says Kenma, moving close enough to brush his nose against Kuro’s and pressing his lips tightly together before allowing a brief kiss. He feels Kuro smile under the press of lips and rubs their cheeks together, inhaling the scent of Kuro. It’s spicy, with an artificial sweetness Kenma knows comes from Koutarou’s strawberry conditioner. One of his nieces had bought him the bottle and Kou claimed it was his duty to actually use it in her honor.

It makes Kenma smile and press closer to Kuro, reveling in the layers of memory that tie them all together.

He wonders if Kei will like the strawberry conditioner.

Wonders if Kou would go out and buy the shampoo and body wash as well once he makes the connection, just to appeal to Kei. 

In that moment, Kenma realizes that perhaps he might perhaps have a type.

It’s such a ludicrous thought that he makes a face.

“What?” Kuro asks, eyes dancing as he pulls back and looks at Kenma’s face. 

“Kuro, Keiji, Kou,” he says. He doesn’t say Kei, but he thinks it. “I have a type.”

“Oh, true,” Kuro replies, looking serious. “There’s Kento, too.”

“Who?” Kenma asks, trying to remember if they have a friend named Kento.

“Yamazaki.”

“Oh,” Kenma says, huffing a laugh and shaking his head as he thinks of the actor. “I’m pretty sure you’re the one who was so keen on getting his autograph at that afterparty Kou dragged us to.”

“Kenma! I was just getting it for you. I know you enjoyed his performance in Death Note.”

“I like the character, Kuro, not necessarily the actor.” 

Sighing dramatically, Kuro says, “Sure, sure, you say that now, until the day when Kento sends you an invitation to run away with him and you’re gone from us forever.”

“Idiot,” Kenma grumbles, unable to keep from smiling. “I’d never leave you, Kuro. Never really leave you.”

There’s a shadow of pain in Kuro’s eyes that acts like a knife in Kenma’s heart, and he wants to do whatever he needs to in order to convince Kuro that it’s true.

“I’d never leave you either, Kenma. Never betray you,” Kuro says, an earnestness in his voice that makes Kenma hurt. “Tsukki and I are just friends, I promise. I’d never - he’d never - we’ve talked about it even -”

“Talked about it?” Kenma asks, trying to keep up.

“Yeah. I saw him the other day - I told him. I made sure it was clear - I mean he didn’t ask - but I told him we could only be friends and he was ok with that, I mean he’s one of my best friends but -”

“Kuro,” chides Kenma, covering Kuro’s mouth with his hand so he can stop the stem of words that seem to be unraveling Kuro from the inside out. “I know. I mean, I know you’d never betray us - that wasn’t what I -”

“Please, Kenma,” Kuro murmurs, kissing Kenma’s fingertips. “Please, just - be ok? And I’ll pay more attention - I played through your game while you were gone, well part of it I got stuck on the blue castle and Bokuto helped some, but -”

“I like Kei,” Kenma interrupts, brow furrowing. The analytical part of his brain latches onto the fact that Kuro had difficulty with the blue castle level and wonders if he needs to examine the mechanics for playability, maybe rebalance things, but he files that away for later.

“Good! I’m glad, I like him too, he’s one of my favorite people -”

“I like him,” repeats Kenma, feeling frustrated.

“I know! I told him that when we went to the club. But that’s good. So you aren’t worried? It’s ok? We can all be friends?”

“Of course we can,” says Kenma, closing his eyes momentarily at Kuro’s stubbornness. Why do things have to be this hard? Keiji had been easy to convince. Then again, words were easier with Keiji. He tried again, just for luck. “We can be whatever you want, Kuro.”

“I want us to be friends.”

Kuro was such a liar sometimes.

Kenma breaths through the anger that sparks in him, so tired of how hung up Kuro is about this subject. He’s watched Kuro watch Kei for years, seen the fondness and worry and the way Kuro was more that willing to drop almost anything if Kei needed him, the same way he did for Kenma, or Keiji, or Koutarou. It was similar to how he cared for his teammates, but there was something in the lingering looks that will never be directed at Yaku, as much as Kuro likes him.

These past few months with Kei so involved with Tobio - well. It had just gotten too annoying, building upon other small annoyances about Kuro’s absent-mindedness and the way he forgot about little things he’d promised to do. He always apologized after, if he thought about it, but it had just been -

A part of being in a relationship.

Keiji’s words come to him just as he needs them, and Kenma sighs. “Ok, Kuro,” he murmurs, letting it go - for the moment. But Keiji is right, some things can’t be forced. 

They must be gently nurtured.

Probably.

Kuro studies his face carefully, fingers curling into his back. 

Warmth spreads over any remnants of anger and annoyance inside Kenma, and he smiles, watching Kuro relax. All the frustration and hurt and negative emotions - Kuro was worth all of them. 

Kuro. His Kuro.

“I love you,” Kenma says, feeling a vague sense of satisfaction at how easily those three words melt Kuro’s heart.

“Kenma,” whispers Kuro, face scrunching up as he pulls Kenma close. 

Oh no. Are those tears?

He kisses Kuro again, biting his lower lip and making Kuro laugh. “Of course I love you,” Kenma grumbles. “What do I have to do to convince you?”

“Stay here with me forever?” muses Kuro, hands rubbing up and down Kenma’s back.

Huffing in amusement, Kenma says, “Well, my job will let me work from home, but I’m pretty sure your advisor actually wants to you to be present for the section you’re proctoring.”

“Details, details.”

“Maybe you’d be convinced if I finally wore those socks you keep bugging me about.”

“Kenma! Ah, and the -”

“Don’t push it.”

Light is dancing again in Kuro’s eyes, and Kenma loves it. They fit together like they always have, and it’s perfect.

“Maybe I’ll make you wear it,” Kenma teases, knowing without having to really ask that Kuro would. Kou too, now that he thinks of it - and the thought of Koutarou in a skirt is amusing. Keiji in a skirt sounds downright sinful. Kei - well.

He’s suddenly convinced that Kei will never wear a skirt in a million years, though he could be wrong.

Kei might enjoy Kuro in a skirt, though. Kei might enjoy Kuro in many ways.

Kei might enjoy him in quite a few ways as well, and that thought is quite pleasing. He finds that matching wits with Keiji in the bedroom is invigorating and has the feeling that Kei might be somewhat similar.

But those are thoughts for another time. Right now, he has Kuro smiling up at him, innocent of the filth that Kenma’s mind had momentarily indulged in. Well - at least a little bit innocent.

“You know,” Kuro murmurs, hands sliding down to brush against the top of Kenma’s ass, “that if you ever want something, all you have to do is ask. Really, you don’t even have to ask. You can just take it. If you want.”

“Is that so,” teases Kenma, sliding one leg over both of Kuro’s, thigh dangerously close to Kuro’s cock.

“Ah, yeah? Yes? I mean yes?”

Kenma smiles, letting his fingers trace down Kuro’s chest, brushing against the mark of his name. It makes Kuro arch, eyes full of wondrous desire. This, with Kuro - this is easy.

If only he could always use his body to convince Kuro of his words.

Maybe -

But later.

Humming, he looks down, watching the soft colors slide out under his touch. Kuro’s fingers are following his own, brushing against the petals. It feels like they have a miracle under their fingertips, pigment growing and branching out, sliding lower as Kenma traces over to Kuro’s belly button and beyond.

“Kenma - what are you - are you going to -”

“Yes,” Kenma says, watching as he slides his fingers down over the trail of hair leading to Kuro’s cock. Sometimes it’s hard to coax the colors out this far. It’s a good day, though, and he watches as the soft skin of Kuro’s length is covered with petals in brilliant watercolor shades as he strokes it. 

Kuro’s hand curls around his shoulder as he arches into the touch. “You don’t have - can I - Kenma -”

“Shh,” murmurs Kenma, watching colors glisten on Kuro’s belly, holding strong, shifting as Kuro moves. A flick of his wrist and he looks up, loses himself in Kuro’s eyes. His Kuro, always. “I love you.”

The dark-gold of Kuro’s eyes is so open, so vulnerable. Kenma loves this, loves the way his mouth falls open with unspoken words, red and inviting. He really could take anything he wanted. He knows this. Maybe he takes it for granted? He wants to shower appreciation on Kuro, pull out every trace of worry and tension, let him rest in the comfort of this embrace. 

“You’re safe, Kuro. I love you. Always love you.”

“Kenma...” Kuro is whimpering now, one hand tightening on Kenma’s shoulder as the other slides down and squeezes his ass. 

It’s rather delightful, being able to do this. Kenma smiles, changing up his strokes, twisting his wrist in the way he knows Kuro likes. This, they’ve done for years. It was embarrassing at first. Kenma remembers nights at training camps fumbling around in the dark, whispering about Akaashi and Bokuto, trying to be quiet enough to avoid Fukunaga’s all-seeing eyes. Now, it’s familiar in the best way.

He could get Kuro off in three minutes if he wanted. Maybe less. He’s timed it, much to Kuro’s consternation. He’s seventeen seconds faster than Keiji’s best time.

Right now, he doesn’t need to rush, though.

He drags it out a bit, leans on Kuro’s shoulder and watches his face. Kuro’s hand slides from his arm to his cheek, gentle as he whispers Kenma’s name, pulls him down for a kiss.

Kenma doesn’t mind too much.

“I want you to let go,” Kenma murmurs. “Can you do that for me, my Kuro?”

“Yes,” Kuro gasps, arching again as Kenma tightens his hold as he pulls. “Yes, yes, anything...”

“Hmm... so good. So perfect.”

A few more flicks of the wrist and Kuro is crying out, hips bucking as he comes. Kenma looks down, lips curling with satisfaction as he sees the spill of Kuro’s pleasure all over his stomach. It’s messy. Warm and slick. Kenma spreads his hand through it and away from Kuro’s oversensitive cock, covering the colors from earlier with Kuro’s seed. It makes the colors even brighter.

Kuro really is beautiful.

“You’re amazing, Kenma,” Kuro whispers, pulling him down into an embrace.

Kenma nods, fingers still sliding through the wetness. It doesn’t take long for it to cool, starting to turn tacky. He lets Kuro enjoy the hug for a while, listening to as the heartbeat of his life settles into something calm as Kuro comes down from his excitement.

Love is exhausting, but it’s also worth it.

But -

“I’m going to go get a washcloth and wash my hands,” Kenma says, smiling as Kuro laughs.

“Fine, fine. Hurry back though, ok?”

Kenma nods, pushing up and going to the door. The smell of scrambled eggs wafts through when he opens it, and he turns, already predicting what Kuro will say. “Breakfast in bed?” he asks.

“Yes please.”

“Kou in bed?”

Kuro laughs, and nods. “If he’s not already holed up with Akaashi. Or both? If they want.”

“Both is good,” Kenma says, smiling as he turns toward the bathroom.

Both is good. Both is very good. All is better, or at least he thinks it would be. Hopefully.

After all, there is a reason they have really big beds.

~~~~~~~~

The restaurant is tucked away behind a walkway of manicured bushes, leaves still green. Kageyama sits on a wooden bench in an alcove just close to the door and tries not to fidget too much. He checks his phone. He’d told Kindaichi he was here, receiving a simple _ok_ in response. Is he being too eager? Should he play it cool?

He’s always so bad at playing it cool.

Kindaichi knows that, right?

He hears them before he sees them, jolts to his feet and shoves his phone in his pocket as they round the corner of bushes and see him. 

It’s Kunimi who he notices first. Kunimi is laughing at something, hand on Kindaichi’s arm. Then he turns, following Kindaichi’s gaze and seeing Kageyama.

Kageyama doesn’t know how to read the expressions on his face in reaction to what he sees. Are they bad? Kunimi’s mouth falls open a bit, and he turns to Kindaichi, brow furrowing before his face relaxes. There’s a little half-smile on Kindaichi’s lips. That’s probably good right? Kageyama hopes it’s good.

“Hi,” he says, hoping that sounds alright as well.

After all, this could be nothing, right?

A group of old friends getting together for lunch. Friends - well - that could be true, right? They had been friends at one point.

They’d been Kageyama’s best friends. 

“Hey,” Kindaichi replies, moving forward. His eyes look tense, and he’s glancing from Kunimi to Kageyama. 

Kunimi mumbles something, still almost staring at Kageyama’s face. He half-trips as they move forward and Kageyama’s eyes widen. He steps forward, hands reaching out - but Kindaichi is there, holding Kunimi steady, and Kunimi laughs.

“Sorry, I’m not usually this clumsy,” Kunimi says.

He’s closer now.

Kageyama is probably supposed to say something.

He can’t help drinking the sight of them in. It’s different today. His mind isn’t as full of Tsukishima as it was a few days ago. Kei is still a presence, but he’s trying to keep it silent, not get embroiled in pointless conversations that will go nowhere but circles inside his head. 

He’d rather spend his time watching Kunimi and Kindaichi.

Wait, that’s weird, isn’t it? Is it? He swallows, looks up at Kindaichi. They’re both taller than him. Why are they both taller than him? “Ah,” he finally manages, “I didn’t want to go inside until you were here.”

“So you two were plotting this together,” Kunimi murmurs, elbowing Kindaichi.

“Oof. Yes. I told you I had a surprise for you.”

“Hmm.”

A surprise. He was a surprise? Was he a good surprise?

“Well,” Kunimi says, “I am surprised. Should we get a table?” His hand unfurls and for a moment Kageyama wonders if Kunimi is reaching out toward him, but of course, he just waves the way toward the door instead.

Kageyama stands up straight and nods, offering for them to go first. 

For a moment they’re stuck at a standstill. Kindaichi breaks it by moving to the door and opening it wide.

Kunimi shakes his head but takes the lead, talking to the hostess and getting them a table for three. It’s inside but near a large window that looks out on the park. The whole place is rustic, all rough wood and rusted metal. 

“I like this place so far,” Kunimi murmurs.

“Kageyama picked it out,” says Kindaichi. “He said they have a reputation for great roasted corn.”

It’s unexpected. Kageyama studies Kindaichi’s face, trying to figure out where this is going. It feels too easy. Too normal. He’s panicking a bit inside, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, it’s good.” Eloquence is never his strong suit when he’s nervous.

“I see,” replies Kunimi, tilting his head to the side and giving Kageyama a look that makes his heart pound. “I suppose there’s an ice cream shop with salted caramel just down the path?”

Oh no oh no oh no Kageyama hadn’t checked how can he have forgotten about -

“Yep, there is, actually,” Kindaichi says, smiling down at Kunimi. “Though I still say you should try the mint. What about you, Kageyama, what’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?”

“I bet it’s milk,” teases Kunimi.

“Sweet cream, actually.” Kageyama can feel heat in his cheeks. A part of him wants to run out, but there is no cruelty in Kunimi’s smile.

He knows what Kunimi looks like when he’s being mean. This isn’t that. This is almost -

He looks out the window, curling his fingers in on themselves as he watches the stream outside. “The corn probably isn’t as good as the ones you can buy at the festivals,” he mutters.

“I’m sure it’s great.”

Kageyama turns, studying Kindaichi’s face. When had he gotten so calm? Kageyama almost feels like a wild animal that is being -

Well not tamed, exactly, but -

“Welcome,” their waitress says, laying menus down on the table. “Have you been here before?”

“First time,” Kunimi replies.

“Oh great! You’re in for a treat then. On this side, you’ll see our Cuban-inspired offerings, and over here we have some more traditional dishes if you’d like...”

Wait. Cuban?

Concern etches Kageyama’s heart as he pulls one of the menus closer to him, looking down at the descriptions. A sandwich with roast pork, cheese, and chipotle mayonnaise - whatever that was? And the grilled corn, grilled corn - more mayonnaise? And what is cojita cheese?

Heart sinking, Kageyama waits until the waitress is gone before saying anything. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I didn’t realize it wasn’t -”

“Hey, hey, this will be good,” Kindaichi says. “I think we ate at a Cuban place when we went to New York, didn’t we?”

“Puerto Rican,” Kunimi corrects, looking down over the menu.

“Oh yeah, that! It was pretty good. I didn’t have any of their corn, but I bet it’s great.”

“And if it isn’t,” muses Kunimi, “Well, maybe you’ll just have to go to a festival with us and buy him an ear there.”

Kageyama stares at Kunimi as he glances up from the menu, holding Kageyama’s gaze for just a moment too long. Kunimi doesn’t seem quite as cool, in that moment, as he normally is. Maybe it’s the edge to his voice or the way he glances up at Kindaichi after he looks away from Kageyama, or the way his hands are holding the menu. 

“I could do that,” Kageyama says, looking at Kindaichi as well, studying the smile that is directed at Kunimi. He could be wrong, but it seems almost reassuring. 

Looking back down at the menu, Kunimi said, “Well, there’s a mini-festival at my university Thursday night, if you wanted. It’s all about the moonrise and the falling leaves. I’ll be working a booth for the library, so Kindaichi will probably be on his own most of the time. Maybe you two could wander around together and find a vendor that sells corn.”

“O-only if he wants,” Kageyama says.

He’s terrified for a moment that he’ll go to the festival and Kindaichi won’t be there or will get bored of hanging out with him and find some excuse to leave after only a few minutes. Visions of that one ball dropping to the court freeze his hands. 

Kindaichi wouldn’t do that, would he?

Kunimi and Kindaichi are holding hands.

It’s such a small thing. Kageyama watches as Kindaichi rubs his thumb over Kunimi’s knuckles, aching for that same touch.

But they’re the ones who shut him out.

But he was the one who’d yelled.

But he hadn’t had any other words -

He did now.

“I’ve changed,” Kageyama blurts out, staring at his hands for a moment before chancing a look up at Kindaichi’s face.

It is calm, with only an echo of past hurt edged between bushy eyebrows. “Yeah,” Kindaichi says, nodding. “I think - I hope - we all have.”

Kunimi is looking to the side, out the window. He snorts. “I know I have,” he says, glancing down. “Ah, I think I’m going to have the Cubano sandwich.”

“Huh? Oh, ah, yeah,” Kindaichi says. “Uh, do you want to share it? I’m going to try their roasted corn, but I know we want room for dessert later.”

“Sure.”

Kageyama studies the menu, settling on a teriyaki chicken sandwich. He orders corn as well, just so that he can know how badly he screwed up. 

After the waitress leaves with their order, Kindaichi pulls out his phone, pursing his lips and clicking on something before he shows it to Kunimi. It makes Kageyama feel left out. He looks out the window and tries to ignore their low conversation before his own phone dings.

_relax. We are happy we’re here._

It’s embarrassing and he sucks in a breath, looking over, but Kindaichi and Kunimi seem to be having a little disagreement about something he can’t hear. 

He bites his bottom lip, watching Kindaichi press lips to Kunimi’s forehead and Kunimi scrunch up his nose in annoyance. 

They’re still holding hands.

They’re happy they are here. With him.

“So, you’re going to the university still?” Kageyama asks, looking at Kunimi.

“What? Oh, uh, yeah.”

“He’s getting his masters, and then his Ph.D.!” Kindaichi boasts. “I’ll have to support him for a while, but it’s worth it to get to watch him work. You should see him at his desk, all hunched over with his tongue stuck between his teeth while he works on a translation, it’s adorable.”

Flushing, Kunimi grumbles, “You’re just biased.”

Kageyama must be biased as well because it did sound adorable. “And you, Kindaichi?”

“He’s a carpenter.”

“Woodworker,” corrects Kindaichi, bumping his shoulder against Kunimi. “Well, sometimes I do carpentry work, depending on what the client needs, but mainly I do woodworking. I work in a shop that specializes in furniture restoration and replication.”

“Oh,” Kageyama said.

Kunimi smiles. “He’s probably been oogling all the furniture in here.”

“The windows are nice,” Kindaichi says, flushing and looking to the side. “Uh, it’s probably pretty boring work though.”

“No,” replies Kageyama, racking his brain. “Uh, furniture is important.”

Kunimi stares at him, lips twitching.

Trying again, Kageyama blurts out, “I’d like to see more furniture! I mean, uh, I don’t know a lot about different kinds? Or what goes into making them? But, uh, working with your hands seems cool, and people must trust you a lot to let you restore things so I bet you’re great.”

Cheeks coloring, Kindaichi says, “I’m alright.” He seems almost relieved when the waitress comes, delivering their food.

The corn is dusted with a red powder and a lot of small white flecks. Kageyama takes a bite, trying to figure out the flavors. It’s a bit spicy. The mix is one he isn’t used to so it takes a moment for him to figure out if he likes it. The white stuff must be the cheese, and there’s something else, something else slightly tangy - overall it’s savory, more salty than sweet.

It’s good.

He glances up, watching Kindaichi take a few bites, waiting for the verdict.

Kindaichi sets the cob down and licks his lips. Kageyama can’t help but follow the motion of his tongue, hope rising as Kindaichi smiles.

“I like it,” says Kindaichi, and Kageyama wants to pump his fist in the air.

All he says in reply is “Good.”

It’s satisfying, though, and he keeps eating the corn, looking over where Kunimi is trying his sandwich. Kunimi crinkles his nose after the first bite. It only takes a minute for Kageyama to offer him half of his own sandwich, and Kunimi accepts, looking more serene after tasting the teriyaki. 

Kunimi has always liked sweet foods best.

“You really should know,” Kunimi says, “that Kindaichi is very good. He helped my father fix up some old pieces from our house, and he built that desk of mine that he was talking about. Built our bed, as well.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want something that would be flimsy and break apart on us if we - uh, well, I mean -

“Maybe you could come see it sometime,” murmurs Kunimi, glancing up at him with a slow smile. “The desk, I mean.”

Kageyama isn’t sure that’s what he meant at all. He’s fairly sure that isn’t what he hopes Kunimi means, but that thought is confusing, especially with Kunimi and Kindaichi sitting right there across from him. “Yeah,” he mutters. “The desk. Of - of course. Uh, I would like to see some of your work.”

“You could come round to the shop,” Kindaichi says, giving him a speculative look. “I could show you how I do it.”

“Ok,” Kageyama replies, that thought distracting him from the other ones that he should not be indulging in here with them. He studies the wood of the table, fingers tracing over the lacquered wood grain. 

“Good.”

They eat a few more bites. Kunimi offers him his half of the Cuban sandwich and Kageyama takes it, almost flushing as he stares at the place where Kunimi has taken a bite. Eating from there would be like an indirect kiss, wouldn’t it? He’s still contemplating it when Kunimi speaks.

“So, Kageyama-kun, what have you done since high school? Playing professionally?”

“Ah, no,” says Kageyama, feeling almost relieved as he sets down the sandwich. “I thought about it. Did play when I first went to university, and I liked it, but didn’t work out.” He thought sometimes he should be more sad about that, but he wasn’t - not really. “I uh - I majored in kinesthesiology.”

Kunimi and Kindaichi are both staring at him, and he flushes. 

“What?”

“Ah, nothing,” Kunimi says, tilting his head to the side. “That’s just - doesn’t that require a lot of studying?”

“Yeah, it does,” says Kageyama, flushing a bit. He thinks back to long nights studying. “Uh, Tsukishima helped a lot, and do you remember Oikawa-senpai?”

The look Kunimi gives him is deadpan. “Yes.”

“Oh, well, good. Ah, he was a tutor. He was really mean? At first, I guess? But then - he was really patient with me. Helped me to figure out the best ways to study.”

“He was a good senpai,” Kindaichi says, pursing his lips and glancing to the side. “Well, I mean, I know things were hard between the two of you in junior high, but he got better in high school.”

“Yeah. He’s really good. He’s working on an advanced degree in sports administration, I think he wants to be an athletic director someday. I just want to be a trainer. Maybe a coach.”

“You’ll be good at it, I bet,” says Kunimi, giving him a fond smile.

Kageyama flushes. “I hope so,” he mutters, eating a few bites of the pork sandwich. It’s very good. Swallowing it down, he says, “It’s really interesting? All the terminology was hard at first, and there are names for so many things in your body - except it’s important to know all of them? Especially when things can go wrong in so many ways, especially with repetitive motion, or if you hyperextend something, and proper technique is so important to prevent injury and strain? I just ah - sorry - I get kind of excited -”

“No, it’s nice,” Kindaichi says. “I’m glad you get to do something that you love.”

Love. “Yeah. I do.”

“So Tsukishima helps you study?” asks Kunimi, looking at him with sharp eyes.

Oh. Of course, Kunimi had caught that.

Has he told them that Tsukishima was the person he’s dating?

Was dating.

Probably - no, yes - no - yes, was.

“We’re broken up now,” he blurts out. “Uh, I mean, he’s still a great guy - it was - I was keeping something from him, so it’s my fault, uh -”

“What were you keeping from him?”

“Kunimi!” Kindaichi hisses. “Ignore that, you don’t have to tell us anything, it isn’t any of our business -”

“You can tell us later if you want.”

Kageyama takes in a breath. The thought of telling them about what happened - about the soulmate marks - it makes words stick in his throat, and he can only let one out. “Maybe,” he whispers. 

When he looks up, Kunimi is staring at him with that look that always catches him by surprise. It’s not a cruel look, just intense. Almost - hungry?

“Only if you’re comfortable,” says Kindaichi. “After all, it’s been a while, yeah? It’s good to just get to know you.”

Kunimi turns and looks at Kindaichi, then shrugs and nods, looking back at the window. “It is,” he says. “We should do this more often.”

The waitress comes back to the table. Kageyama starts to pull out his wallet, but then he notices that Kindaichi is pulling some change off of the tray. “You paid already?” He hadn’t even noticed her come by with the check.

“Yes,” Kindaichi says.

Kageyama wants to protest, but Kunimi stops him. “He can afford it,” he says.

“We. We can,” says Kindaichi.

“Alright, fine, we. Just - let him take care of it.”

Kageyama almost wants to hear the words as ‘let him take care of you.’ Kindaichi had always been good at taking care of people. Kunimi mainly, but Kageyama could remember the way Kindaichi had acted like a buffer zone between him and the other players on their team, at least before - well.

The pain was still there, but he could breathe through it. The past wa the past, after all.

“At least let me pay for ice cream,” says Kageyama, sitting back. 

Kunimi smiles, and Kindaichi gives him an exasperated look before sighing. “Fine,” he says.

Fine. Good. Ice cream is good.

And so are these moments with the two of them, building new memories from pieces snatched from a past that they’d never had together, reworking pieces from the times they had shared. He laughs, makes Kunimi cackle, and Kindaichi almost inhales the whipped cream from the mint-chocolate-chip shake that he orders. It makes him ache to watch them together, all the little touches and shared familiarities, but even that is good because they are so obviously happy. 

Happy, but not shutting him out.

He wants more moments like this. Wants to learn to fit in, to trust them, to be trusted. Wants any piece of this that he can have. Wants to dream. Wants to hope.

And so he does.


	8. Wish

Tsukishima pauses as he gets off the elevator, frowning. 

“Ah, Tsukishima-san. You found it.”

Akaashi is standing near the elevator doors. He’s dressed in a black button-down shirt with a silver tie and black slacks. Tsukishima feels terribly underdressed in his maroon sweater-vest.

“Sorry. I didn’t realize...” 

“What?” asks Akaashi, tilting his head to the side.

“Ah, nothing.”

As Tsukishima had halfway predicted, Akaashi had indeed invited him out earlier this morning. Not for coffee though - dinner. He really should have looked up the restaurant before he arrived.

Lips curled into a smile, Akaashi steps closer and curls a hand around Tsukishima’s upper arm. “I appreciate you being able to come. Kuroo-san often joins me on these little assignments, but he’s got to get up early tomorrow. Kozume-san is too deep in design-mode on that new game - something I blame you for, by the way - and Bokuto-san, well. Ah. I’ve learned it isn’t all that productive to try and do this with Bokuto-san at the table with me.”

Looking around at the classy atmosphere, Tsukishima thinks he might be able to see why. “Too loud?” he asks.

Akaashi laughs, leading him closer to the host’s podium. “No,” he murmurs. “Too popular. We get swarmed with fans and people asking to sponsor him. The last thing I need is for my column to be linked with the famous volleyball player - anonymity is important in these things.”

Nodding, Tsukishima watches as Akaashi talks to the host and arranges a table. He feels a bit out of place. The restaurant is far above his pay grade as an intern, and Akaashi - well.

He can’t shake the feeling that this is the type of place where Akaashi should bring a date. If Tsukishima could have afforded it, it’s the type of place he would have brought -

“Is sitting outdoors ok?” Akaashi asks. “It’s a bit chilly, but we’re both wearing long sleeves so -”

“We do have suit coats available if the gentlemen prefer -”

“That’s fine,” says Tsukishima, giving Akaashi a reassuring look. “It’s been warm today for fall.”

They follow the host outside to a table for two by the rail, and Tsukishima has to pause and enjoy the view. There are a few clouds in the west illuminated by the last vestiges of the dying sun, providing a spectacular backdrop to the Tokyo skyline. He’s tempted to pull out his phone and take a picture, but that would probably be too gauche for a place this classy. “What’s that?” he asks instead, motioning to a strangely-shaped spire in the middle of the scene.

“Ah! That’s the St. Grace Cathedral, sir.”

“Oh.” Tsukishima glanced over at where Akaashi was waiting behind his chair, a small smile on his face. Chuckling, Tsukishima took a seat, returning the smile as Akaashi sat down across from him.

“Now, sirs, will you be wanting the a la carte menu tonight, or will you be ordering a set?”

“Sets, I believe,” Akaashi said, looking at Tsukishima for confirmation. “You aren’t a vegetarian, are you?”

Raising an eyebrow, Tsukishima answers, “No.”

“Well then. You have two, correct? I’ll have the Aoba and he will have the Natsu. That way, we can test out the breadth of what your establishment has to offer.”

“Very good, sir. As for beverages?”

“Ah, the recommended wine pairings, I believe. And water.”

Feeling a bit bemused, Tsukishima watched as the waiter walked away.

Akaashi smiled at him, then gave a little start. “Ah - I’m sorry, I didn’t even think -”

“It’s fine,” Tsukishima said. “I’m not used to people ordering for me, but I don’t mind. Probably wouldn’t know what to order here anyhow.”

Was it his imagination, or was Akaashi blushing a bit?

“I’m so used to doing the talking in these places,” Akaashi said, shrugging apologetically. “Kozume lets me eat over half of whatever he ends up with anyhow, as long as I get him apple pie later, and Kuroo - well.”

There’s a tenderness that creeps into Akaashi’s face that makes Tsukishima’s heart ache a bit. “Kuroo?” he prompts, needing to hear more even if it hurts.

“Kuroo would do whatever he could to make us happy.”

“Ah,” Tsukishima says. “He’s good like that. Kind, as he would say.”

Akaashi chuckles, a low melodious thing that hangs in the air. “I’m not sure he’s quite as kind as he’d like to claim. He can be quite the pain in the ass at times, especially when he gets stubborn. But good - yes. Yes, he’s very good.”

They share a smile. Tsukishima doesn’t begrudge Akaashi this happiness. How could he? Akaashi is - he doesn’t have the words. He’s sure there’s some imperfection somewhere, some flaw. Maybe Akaashi leaves the dishes sitting in the sink too long. Perhaps he doesn’t floss. He knows from experience that Akaashi is not a morning person, but it’s hard to really see that as an imperfection as he sits across from the man and gets to see him by candlelight.

“Kuroo-san deserves to be happy as well,” Akaashi muses. “Fully happy.”

There’s no way that Tsukishima would disagree with that.

“Fortunately, I do believe that achieving that is something that all of us will enjoy - ah, there’s our starter. You like oysters, yes?”

“Ah, yes?” Tsukishuma replies, looking up as their waiter brings them a plate, setting it down between them. Another comes over and fills two glasses with what appears to be champagne. “How do I, ah -”

“Oh. Just here,” Akaashi says, picking up a tiny fork.

Tsukishima watches as he picks up one of the oysters and uses the fork to gently tug it in its shell, then lifts the shell to his mouth and slurps. Akaashi’s eyes close for a moment and then he swallows the oyster, setting the shell down to one side on the plate.

It’s -

The old myth about oysters being an aphrodisiac suddenly seems far too plausible, and Tsukishima shies away from the thought. “Ah, nice.”

“Not bad,” Akaashi murmurs, pulling out his phone and placing it on the table beside them. “Do you mind if I take notes?”

“No, not at all.” He looks down at the plate and swallows, mouth dry. A sip of champagne helps. A wave of flavors cascades of his tongue and he looks up at Akaashi. “Ah, do I chew the oyster, or...”

“Chew it a couple times, yes. Just to get the flavor - and then swallow it down.”

The way Akaashi is watching him makes Tsukishima feel things that he really shouldn’t. Not for the boyfriend of - but trying to deny Akaashi’s sexiness is like trying to deny that the ocean is wet. The only solution is to let the truth wash over him and hope he doesn’t get washed away in the process. 

He picks up the other little fork and a shell, feeling the oyster slide free as he tugs at it with the tines. It slips around, falling into his mouth easily as he tips the shell back. He presses his tongue against it, closing his mouth and chewing carefully. It’s... different. Spicier than he expected, but that’s the sauce. 

Akaashi is watching him.

He swallows the oyster down.

“What did you think?” Akaashi asks.

He thinks that eating oysters with anyone else would probably be only half as good. He knows he can’t say that, so he makes a show of considering. “Different.”

“Try a sip of the champagne.”

It feels like a subtle command. Tsukishima has never had a history of wanting someone to order him around, but there’s something about the way Akaashi does it that he thinks will feed his fantasies later.

He takes a sip. The flavors - it’s like a landscape in his mouth, and he takes another sip, looking out at the city again and imagines just for a moment that this is actually a date.

Akaashi is eating another of the oysters, taking another sip of wine. Tsukishima follows suit. It’s easier the second time. The third - well, the third is the last one, but somehow he doesn’t mind. 

He’ll just take this night as it comes.

“So Kozume-san found the information I shared with him to be helpful?” Tsukishima asks, trying to remember the truth of his relationship with Akaashi - and Akaashi’s relationship with the others.

“Very much,” Akaashi says. “He told me that he enjoyed your time together and that he’s looking forward to seeing you again. I think... hmm.”

“What?”

“I think that it was - he doesn’t always get to have those conversations with us. When he’s discussing his games, well. I enjoy listening to him talk, of course; getting Kenma to have an extended conversation about anything is a bit of a miracle. I just often find that I don’t have all that much to contribute.”

“I’m sure that Kozume-san appreciates what you do contribute,” Tsukishima says, feeling vaguely pleased at the idea that Kozume had appreciated his company so much. 

“Hmm, yes. Did you enjoy your time with him as well?”

“I did,” replies Tsukishima, looking up as their waiter clears the plate of oyster shells away and sets two new plates in front of them. He’s almost sad when the champagne is taken away as well, replaced with two glasses partially filled with white wine.

He examines his plate.

“Kanpachi Tataki,” Akaashi supplies, “And Beef Tartare. Do you mind if I try a bite of yours? You can share mine as well, and I believe they are two different wines if you want to try mine.”

The thought of sharing a wine glass with Akaashi -

“That’s fine,” he murmurs. “I probably shouldn’t drink all that much anyhow.”

He thinks about what he let himself do this past weekend, in part because his inhibitions were lowered by alcohol. He doesn’t regret it in the least - he and Suna have been texting each other a bit, and Suna has even talked about bringing his boyfriend to visit the museum - but losing control around Akaashi would be far more embarrassing.

And potentially harmful to some of his favorite friendships, including the one that he’s just only now developing. “Ah, being with Kozume-san is nice,” says Tsukishima. “I enjoyed talking with someone who could follow the conversation and was actually interested. I’m surprised we haven’t talked a lot before, honestly. He’s not nearly as off-putting or scary as he was in high school.”

“He has mellowed a bit, I think - probably due to Hinata-san’s influence if I’m honest. I like to think he’s learned his lesson on some things - though some days, I’m not so sure.”

Tsukishima glances up from the food and meets Akaashi’s eyes, feeling like they’re sharing a private joke that he doesn’t know yet. “It’s relaxing, though, being with him. For the most part.” He thinks back to the subtle touches of Kenma’s hand on his arm, the long looks. If it had been anyone else Tsukishima might’ve classified those things as flirting - but that seemed a bit unthinkable. 

“For the most part?”

“Ah, sometimes he’s a bit difficult to read.” Tsukishima said, looking down at his almost-clean plate. 

“Oh. That.” Akaashi pursed his lips. “Our Kozume sometimes likes to think that he’s a bit mysterious. Once you know how to make him be completely honest, it helps. But I’m sure you’ll figure that out as you get to know him better.”

That sounds - Akaashi looks almost a little bit evil as he says that, and Tsukishima blinks. “Ok.”

“Ah, the crabbe cake donuts,” Akaashi says, eyes lighting up as the staff brings their next course. “I’ve been looking forward to these. And the scallops - those look marvelous as well. The chef’s use of bacon dust is supposed to be fantastic.”

It does look delicious. Tsukishima takes a bite, trying to concentrate more on the food and less on the confusing conversation. There’s a new white wine placed next to his plate and he’s not sure why he needs another one, but Akaashi looks like he’s enjoying himself and that’s what matters.

The scallops are tender and delicious, with just a hint of the taste of bacon, and the new wine as just as delicious as the last had been. It’s a treat being surprised with all these different types of food. Normally he isn’t all that experimental - but perhaps now that he’s single, he can persuade Akaashi to take him on more of these little tasting ventures. 

He almost doesn’t want to have one of Akaashi’s crab donuts, but the little pastries are so tempting he takes Akaashi up on the offer to try them. “Wow,” he says after tasting the bite. Savory, with a hint of sweetness. It’s light and filling, and he feels reckless as he reaches over and takes a drink from Akaashi’s wineglass, staring into Akaashi’s eyes.

“Good,” says Akaashi, tongue flicking out to taste a crumb at the corner of his mouth.

This is setting off all sorts of alarm bells in Tsukishima’s head, but at the same time, he feels safe. This is Akaashi. Akaashi loves his partners, of that Tsukishima has no doubt. Akaashi also cares for him.

Maybe he should just treat it like he does the times when Akaashi pulls him out on the dance floor - like Akaashi being Akaashi and not meaning anything by it. That makes sense. Still -

“How is Bokuto-san doing? He seemed a bit distressed the last time I saw him.”

Akaashi’s nose scrunches up, and then he smiles. “He’s fine. Was trying to convince Kenma to watch some sort of Dino-documentary earlier, but kept getting turned down because Kozume wasn’t sure if it would be accurate or just sensational. Said he only trusted your judgment on these things.”

“I’m flattered,” Tsukishima says, amused by the thought of that conversation. “I’d be happy to try to watch it with Bokuto-san if he was really interested, though. I could point all the mistakes for Kozume.”

“He’d appreciate that I’m sure,” Akaashi says, looking up as their waiter comes over with a few questions. Akaashi consults the menu the man presents, pointing out a few things and then pursuing his lips before whispering something to the man that makes Tsukishima curious.

“Is everything alright?”

Chuckling, Akaashi says, “Ah, yes. My set just has a choice of main courses and he wanted to confirm that and our desserts.”

“I see,” replies Tsukishima, picking up his wine glass and taking a moment to enjoy the view. The sky is dark now, and he almost feels like he’s floating in the clouds, looking down on the tiny cars and people below. “I appreciate you bringing me here, truly. It’s rather incredible.”

“I’m glad.” 

Tsukishima looks over and sees the warmth in Akaashi’s eyes, and is even more thankful for this moment. 

Akaashi picks up his own wine glass and looks at it speculatively before taking a drink. “In truth, I... I’m actually glad that everyone else was busy so that I could have this time with you. These past few days have been, ah. Stressful at times. I love them very much, but in their own way, they can be, mmm, a lot to deal with at times. Worth it at times, but still... I missed my time with Tsukishima. Your company is very pleasant to be in.”

“The feeling, I assure you, is quite mutual.” 

Tsukishima isn’t sure if the warmth spreading through him can be blamed on the wine or the company, and he isn’t sure he cares. 

His main course, when it comes out, is a perfectly cooked steak filet paired with a glass of red wine. Tsukishima is picky about his steaks but finds that his mouth is watering to taste as he cuts into it. He manages not to embarrass himself by making an indelicate noise as he takes the first bite.

Of course, Akaashi has no such compunctions.

“Good?” Tsukishuma asks, hoping he can blame the heat in his cheeks on the wine and not the way Akaashi looks while eating his food. No. Eating is too simple a word. Savoring, delicately devouring, experiencing - nothing can really do justice to the sight before him.

“So good,” says Akaashi, licking up a stray bit of sauce from his bottom lip. “Lambchop, twice cooked - and they use lavender - ah, this is definitely going in the review. Here, taste.”

The bite Akaashi offers him is on the fork that had just been in Akaashi’s mouth.

Tsukishima’s heart pounds as he leans forward and takes the bite, letting Akaashi press it into his mouth. It tastes delicious. Earthier than the beef and the seasoning is entirely different, but Tsukishima can’t even think to classify it because he’s too busy watching Akaashi watch his mouth.

He swallows.

“You’re right,” he says, taking a sip of wine to wet his suddenly dry throat. “It’s very good.”

“I’m glad you enjoy it, Tsukishima-kun.”

Oh, he does. He enjoys it too much - far, far, too much.

Akaashi glances down and takes a sip. “Bokuto-san misses you, by the way. He’s jealous that Kenma and I have gotten to spend time with you and he hasn’t.”

“Oh, ah, really?”

“Be careful or he’ll invite you out to practice your blocks,” Akaashi says with a wicked smile.

Tsukishima laughs ruefully. “I haven’t really played in months, and he’d want me to go up against a nationally-ranked ace? He isn’t that cruel, is he?”

“He is. Well, not cruel, no - but he’s never stopped believing in your abilities as a player. I still remember the way he would light up whenever we watched you guys play at nationals.”

“He thinks too highly of me,” says Tsukishima, shaking his head. “And the four of you - if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were conspiring to keep me busy.”

“Is it such a bad thing, spending time with us?” asks Akaashi with a smile.

“No. No, not at all, but -”

“You’re important to us, Tsukishima,” Akaashi murmurs, reaching over and pressing his fingers against the back of Tsukishima’s hand. “We want you to be happy. And, well - to be quite honest, we missed you. I’d say Kuroo especially, but really all of us - even Kozume. He’d been talking about you even before, well. We all enjoy your company. Self-indulgent on our part, perhaps, but hopefully you’ll forgive us.”

Swallowing, Tsukishima turns his hand, pressing his fingers into Akaashi’s palm. “Alright. Yeah - ah, I think I can do that,” he says, wanting to hold Akaashi’s hand tighter like a lifeline. The more time he spends away from Kageyama, the more he realizes how he’d been shutting pieces of himself off in order to make their relationship work. He misses this, and it’s here right in front of him, but he feels like he’s been blind to how much he has missed this. Missed his other friendships, too - misses Yamagucci, and Yachi, and even Hinata; people he’s let fall away because he was so focused on his sadness and trying to overcome it.

He doesn’t know what to say.

Akaashi squeezes his hand, and then sits back, leaving Tsukishima’s fingers feeling cold. “There’s an exhibition match at Chuo this week, Tuesday or Wednesday,” he says, tilting his head to the side and smiling at Tsukishima. “That’s probably a safer bet than something unplanned. No telling what Bokuto-san would come up with.”

“Whatever it would be, I’m sure it would be interesting,” Tsukishima says, and they share a laugh.

It is good.

He finishes the last few bites of steak, musing to himself and watching Akaashi add more notes to the file in his phone. The silence between them is calm, and Tsukishima is thankful for the space that lets him get his emotions back under control.

When their plates are done, the waiter comes by again, replacing them with dessert.

“Wow,” Tsukishima says as he looks down at it.

Akaashi chuckles. “I know it’s not shortcake,” he says, “but I asked them if they had a dessert with strawberries.”

“It looks incredible.” It’s all whipped cream and strawberries and jelly squares and mint leaves arranged in a delicate tower. “It’s almost too pretty to eat.”

“If you don’t eat it, then all the chef’s hard work will have gone to waste,” Akaashi teases. “I’m sure he would be very sad.”

“Well, if I must, I must,” Tsukishima replies, still almost hesitating as he picks up his spoon. 

“You must,” Akaashi replies, already digging his spoon into something that Tsukishima thinks is creme brulee. 

The first bite is incredible. A bit sweeter than his favorite strawberry shortcake, not quite as creamy, but its still delicious. The accent of mint against the light sugar meringue is perfect. “Wow. Are you sure the chef doesn’t know who you are?”

“Mmm, perhaps,” says Akaashi, looking fondly at him. “I try to remain anonymous, but sometimes these things happen. I’d like to think they’d offer this service to anyone, however. Either way - well. It’s worth it to see you enjoying yourself so much.”

The flush on his cheeks this time probably can’t be blamed on the wine. Taking a chance, Tsukishima says, “That’s probably due more to the company than the food, but - thank you.”

He glances up into Akaashi’s eyes to see his reaction, satisfied by what he sees there. Even if this is all he gets to have, well -

It is enough.

“Perhaps we will have to arrange it so you enjoy yourself more often, Tsukishima-kun,” Akaashi murmurs.

“Perhaps so.”

Honestly, Tsukishima wouldn’t mind that at all.


	9. Confess

It’s frustrating to know that he isn’t performing at his best. Frustrating to know he’s letting his emotions get in the way of his performance. Kageyama can’t even say what emotions he’s feeling either, it’s all just a confusing mass of feelings.

He huffs, trying to pull his attention away from thoughts about Tsukishima and Kunimi and Kindaichi and back to the case study he’s supposed to be using to write a treatment plan.

“Hey, Kage-kun!” calls a voice that makes him sit up a little straighter in his seat.

Glancing over, Kageyama tries not to glare at Terushima as he slams his books down on the table before sliding into the seat next to him.

“Aww, are you being mean to our dear Tobio-chan?” cries another sing-song voice. 

Oikawa’s presence is always overwhelming, and for once Kageyama is glad of it. He looks over into his senpai’s smiling face as Oikawa sits and he wonders if -

Should he -

From the way Oikawa’s expression shifts, Kageyama knows that it’s no longer a question of if he tells him, but when. It’s almost disconcerting the way Oikawa can read him. The plastic smile that slides over Oikawa’s face as he turns to Terushima lets Kageyama know that his senpai won’t press him for information in front of his fellow student. For that, he’s grateful.

“So, did you manage to actually make a passing grade on the paper for your statistics course, Teru-chan? I was worried after the way you two came barging in at three am each night the weekend before it was due.”

“Aww, Oikawa-senpai, so kind of you to care! I did, actually - do you want to see it? My TA really liked the way I referenced -”

“That’s fine,” Oikawa responds, pursing his lips in disgust.

Kageyama can see the bags under Oikawa’s eyes. Of course, Oikawa staying up all night studying is nothing new, but they all know that his thesis is putting an extra strain on him. Why Terushima insists on pushing things, Kageyama will never understand.

Well, other than the fact that Terushima just pushes things for fun.

“You can look at it if you want, Kage-kun,” Terushima says, sliding a paper over to him. “I know you’re taking the class next semester - if you want to use it as a reference feel free!”

Glancing down, Kageyama sees the bright red 98 circled on the top corner of the paper. He’s tempted to actually take it. Terushima might be an ass sometimes, but he’s also brilliant - another thing that annoys Oikawa to no end.

The fact that Terushima and Hanamaki get along famously is the main problem, Kageyama knows, but Iwaizumi has told him that until Oikawa actually talks to his boyfriend about it, nothing is going to get better.

Relationships are complicated.

Furrowing his brow, he glances up at Oikawa long enough to see his senpai sigh and wave his hand as if giving permission for Kageyama to take it. 

“Fine, fine, whatever, maybe you can get some good use out of it.”

“Aww, that’s almost high praise coming from you, Oikawa-senpai!”

Sometimes Kageyama wishes that they didn’t automatically gravitate to his table each time he tries to study. Today, though, it’s almost nice to be distracted from his own relationship woes. 

He looks over and sees Terushima scratching at the bright pink bandage he wore on the back of his left wrist, wondering if he’d had any luck the weekend before.

“Ah, no joy,” Terushima says, running a thumb over it and looking at Kageyama like he can read his mind. “Met a couple really cute Izumis, but no Isumis. I’m sure she’s out there, though.”

“Or he,” Oikawa snips. 

Terushima nods, not rising to the bate. “Or he. That would be fine too. Hey, Kageyama, did I tell you about the time that Bobata and I decided to try and see if our bond was something more than just -”

“Ugh, you’ve told us all like ten times.”

Kageyama is pretty sure that beyond all the bickering the two actually like each other. He sincerely doubts that Oikawa would put up with someone he disliked practically living in his space. Still, it’s not his place to get into it with them, so he’s rather thankful when Terushima gets a text message from his best friend and takes his leave.

“Ugh, I thought he’d never go,” Oikawa grumbles, resting his head on his hands. “He and Makki were up until four last night playing some sort of fantasy RPG that Terushima got a beta key for - can you believe it?”

“Did they keep you up?” asks Kageyama, attempting to turn his attention back to the case study. 

“That’s not the point! But well, no. I missed having my Makki-chan with me though,” whines Oikawa, rolling his head on his arms and giving Kageyama a look. 

It’s almost scary how Oikawa’s moods can change in flash.

“How are things with Tsukishima?” Oikawa asks.

Sucking in a breath, Kageyama ducks his head, hating the way that Oikawa can read him. He mumbles some sort of answer, sinking into his seat as Oikawa sits up straight in his chair.

“Tobio?”

The voice is far gentler than he is used to. He notes this almost in passing since he’s trying to count his breaths and keep the world in one place.

Oikawa moves, coming around the table and sliding into the seat Terushima vacated, placing a hand on Kageyama’s shoulder. “Hey, breathe, just breathe. What happened. Did he hurt you?”

Shaking his head furiously, Kageyama tries to find his words. Well, Tsukishima hadn’t physically hurt him, not the way that Oikawa means. It’s still strange to feel like Oikawa is protective of him. It’s something he’s craved since junior high, but -

That thought almost makes him laugh, and he sucks in a breath, swallowing before he says, “He found out about, ah -”

“What?”

It’s easier just to show him. Kageyama turns his head away and lifts a hand to the back of his hair, lifting the strands at the nape of his neck, feeling Oikawa’s hand shift and press against the kanji he knows is there.

“Huh,” Oikawa says. “Does that - is that -”

“Yes,” mutters Kageyama.

“Is it just him?”

Swallowing again, Kageyama says, “Akira’s is on my foot. Kei - ah, Tsukishima - he walked in on me in the shower, and saw it.”

“He hadn’t seen your foot before?”

“I wore socks.”

The shame of it sits in his stomach, how he’d attempted to build a relationship while hiding things so important to who he was. It makes him feel lower than low. Makes him feel like he’d taken advantage of Tsukishima’s dislike of soulmarks. Well, he had, hadn’t he? He’d lied, at least by exclusion, and -

Oikawa slips his arm around Kageyama’s shoulders and pulls him close, resting his head atop Kageyama’s head.

It’s unexpected. Oikawa is physically affectionate sometimes, but not normally to this extent. Not with him. It’s impossible for Kageyama not to sink into the embrace, glad that the table he chose is at least somewhat secluded.

“If you want to talk,” Oikawa murmurs, “You can talk to me. If you don’t, that’s fine too. If you want me to help you find them, or talk to them -”

The words are almost enough to make him start crying again. He’s done that so much though. Tears, he’s found, can be exhausting.

“I found them already,” says Kageyama. “Or - well - they found me, I guess.”

“Because of the marks?”

Kageyama shakes his head, pulling back and glancing over at Oikawa. “Uh, they just happened to run into me. Right after - well - right after Kei and I had our fight.”

“Oh,” Oikawa says, studying his face. “Ah, and how was that?”

Laughing harshly, Kageyama said, “It sucked. Er - well - and it was good, seeing them, but it was just - I dunno. We had lunch yesterday.”

“Oh?”

Breathing is easier. Kageyama nods. He’s thankful for the carefully crafted neutrality in Oikawa’s tone. He lets his head rest on crossed arms on the table, feeling Oikawa’s hand rub his back. It’s a type of comfort he didn’t even know he needed, this touch.

It’s amazing how much things can change.

“Hey,” he whispers, “if you and I - I mean - things are better, yeah? Then they were in -”

An inelegant laugh escapes Oikawa’s nose. “Yes, they’re better,” he says, voice softening as he continues, “They’re a lot better. It was a pain, you being in the same program in undergrad, but I’m glad you were. You’re a much better kohai now than you were in junior high.”

That makes Kageyama chuckle, and he smiles, studying the freckles on his forearm. “I’m hoping - I wonder - I wish -”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He closes his eyes, listening as Oikawa starts to hum some tune, exhaling as Oikawa’s fingers card through the back of his hair. In some ways it makes him miss Kunimi, but Oikawa’s presence is too overwhelming to ever be mistaken for someone else. Kageyama smiles. 

“That’s the theme song from that one anime with the superheroes, isn’t it? The one Takeru likes so much?” asks Kageyama.

“Mmmhmm,” Oikawa replies, continuing to run fingers through his hair. “They’re having an exhibition this Saturday afternoon. I bought tickets for us to go. Hey, Tobio-chan, have you been using that conditioner I recommended? Your hair is softer than normal.”

“Yeah,” Kageyama says, thinking back. He’d bought a sample of it and tucked it away in the shower he never used in his apartment. Tsukishima’s shower was nicer. Being with Tsukishima -

The thought makes him ache. Not as much as it had the day before though. A part of him feels guilty about it, wants to hold onto the pain like it proves that his feelings for Tsukishima are real. 

He lets his eyes stay closed, hoping that Oikawa can’t tell that the tension is building back up inside his throat.

If he has, it doesn’t show, because Oikawa just keeps on. “It’s so wise of you to listen to your senpai,” he murmurs, humming again. “Saturday’s going to be a good day, a very good day. I get to see Takeru in the afternoon, and my sweet Shigeru and Shinji-chan in the evening, as well as - hmm.”

The fingers stop, and Kageyama cracks a lid open, studying Oikawa’s face.

He looks thoughtful. Too thoughtful.

Kageyama hesitates to ask, but - “As well as?”

“I get to see him too,” Oikawa says, fingers running down to tap against the soulmark on the back of his neck. “And Nimi-chan. It’s supposed to be a Seijou reunion. Oh wait - I know, I could take you as my date!”

It’s unexpected and amusing and Kageyama huffs a laugh, closing his eyes again. “Hanamaki-senpai might be offended.”

“He adores you, what are you talking about. Besides, he’s probably going to bring his new bestie, since they’re attached at the hip.”

Lips curling into a smile, Kageyama murmurs, “Iwaizumi-senpai says you’re jealous.”

Gasping, Oikawa lightly hit the back of his head. “You take that back! And Iwa-chan is a big fat jerk. I am not jealous, I’m just...”

The fingers are back in his hair, this time tugging on imaginary tangles before they settle back down into a rhythm. Kageyama doesn’t need Oikawa to explain himself. Oikawa is smart. Definitely smarter than him. In the end, it will be fine, because Hanamaki is devoted to Oikawa even if he likes to keep him on his toes. It’s probably what lets their relationship work if Kageyama thinks about it.

“You should come, though,” Oikawa muses. “Makki-chan would love to see you, and we know Iwa-chan adores you. Spoils you even. I’m almost surprised you didn’t get mark-paired with him. Kyouken-chan might be a little confused, poor dear, but I’m sure Shigeru can straighten him out. He was such a good captain. Not as good as me, of course, but still good - your Kindaichi was a great captain too, you know.”

Kageyama nods. He’d noticed. It had been hard to play against Seijou his third year when he knew about his marks and had to watch Kindaichi and Kunimi be together without him, but he’s always craved being in their presence even if it was sometimes torturous.

Lunch had been better. Hard, but - better.

“I wouldn’t want to crowd their space,” he mutters.

“You wouldn’t. You’d be my guest, going as my precious kohai, so that I could show you off and talk about how amazing you are now that you aren’t trying to take over my spot. It’s so nice being able to actually be proud of you!”

It makes Kageyama’s lips curl up into a smirk as he thinks back. Back when he played, his favorite reaction to get out of Oikawa was irritation. Back then, it had been an almost impossible rivalry, filled with petty responses to Oikawa’s overdramatic challenges.

This was better. Calmer.

“I’ll think about it,” he says.

Oikawa hums in agreement, then movers down to rub the back of his neck. “Kunimi and Kindaichi-chan, hmm? It’s a good pairing. You guys were good together in junior high.”

Yeah, before they weren’t.

“Do you know what you want? Don’t worry, I won’t tell them. Your secret is safe with me.”

Kageyama sighs. “Everything,” he whispers, almost scared that the air will carry his confession to the ears of the soulmates that he wants so badly. “I want everything.”

“Ah,” Oikawa says, gentle again.

He doesn’t want to talk anymore.

Oikawa doesn’t press, just rubs his shoulders, humming again and letting Kageyama breathe.

Letting him relax.

Letting him fall down into a deep sleep, calmer and safer than he has been in days.

Letting him be.

~~~~~~

Akaashi unlocks the front door of their apartment, juggling ten bags of groceries on his arms. “I’m home,” he calls out, halfway expecting to be the only one there.

Instead, he’s met with the welcoming voice of Koutarou booming from the front bedroom. He isn’t sure but he’s pretty sure he hears Kenma’s voice underneath.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Akaashi yells, slipping off his shoes and locking the door before moving to put his groceries away in the kitchen.

The sound of feet padding in behind him as he lays the bags on the counter isn’t unexpected, and the feeling of arms sliding around his waist and pulling him close is anything but unwanted.

“I thought you were in Mishima today,” he says, tilting his head to the side as Koutarou kisses his neck. It’s as messy and enthusiastic as everything Koutarou does, but to Akaashi it feels like home.

Koutarou’s response is muffled against his skin and Akaashi laughs, feels him pull back a bit before he says, “I had an interview. Coach said it was fine if I stayed for a bit. I have to go back later because we have an early practice tomorrow, but I’ll be back on Wednesday.”

The thought makes Akaashi smile, and he hums as he sorts the groceries into piles before starting to put them away. Koutarou helps. Akaashi takes the time to enjoy the sight of his boyfriend’s half-naked body, lips twitching at the hickey resting on his stomach just above the waistband of his boxers. “Cat bite?” he asks.

For a moment Koutarou looks confused, then he glances down, flushing. “Yeah,” he murmurs, lips curling into a sheepish smile.

Akaashi assumes that means that he had actually heard Kenma’s voice earlier and that Kenma is just too lazy to come out to say hello properly.

Well, that or he’s worn out.

Lips twitching, Akaashi opens a can of fancy cat food, not at all surprised when a ginger head pokes around the door with a curious “Meow?” 

“Enjoy your afternoon?” he asks Koutarou, setting the food on a plate and putting it on the floor before Mikoto gets the bright idea to jump up on the counter. He glances back at the doorway, expecting to see Kushina come in at any minute, but perhaps she’s being distracted by Kenma.

He spoils her.

Deciding to give her a treat later rather than risk Mikoto eating it all, Akaashi looks up at Koutarou. 

It’s no surprise that Koutarou is blushing. “Ah, yeah,” he mumbles, fingers fiddling with the hem of his boxers. “Kenma worked from home today and got kinda cuddly. He was working a lot on that new dino game - you know, the one that Tsukki is helping him with? Talked on the phone with him for way longer than Kenma ever talks to someone on the phone, but it’s great because he was smiling while he was doing it, and then he got really really snuggly and even more smiley afterward. He really likes Tsukki, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, I think he does,” Akaashi says, running his fingers over Mikoto’s back as the cat scarfs down his food. “I think he’s enjoying Tsukishima-san’s company more than he expected to.”

“Hmm,” murmurs Koutarou, putting the last of the groceries away. “He’s spending time with Tsukki, and you had a fancy dinner with him -”

“For work -” Akaashi half-protests.

“- and now you’re suggesting that invite him to the game on Wednesday - well, I did that, and he said yes - but - Keiji?”

“Yes?” replies Akaashi, trying to pretend for a moment that he doesn’t know where this is heading.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

Akaashi stands and gives him a long look. Reaching out, he takes Koutarou’s hand, tugging him to the table and sitting down. He plays through all the possible ways to approach this, examining and discarding ideas in turn. None of them seem perfect.

Then again, when it comes to Koutarou, things don’t have to always be perfect.

“Do you remember what it was like when Kuroo-san came to us?” Akaashi asks. 

It was so long ago, but he’ll never forget it himself. They’d gone in to take a shower after a particularly annoying game against Nekoma, one where Akaashi had just wanted to lean against the cool tile and close his eyes. Back then, he’d been pretty hung up about not watching Koutarou shower even though they knew they were soulmates. 

Koutarou had no such compunction.

“I poked your belly,” Koutarou says, giggling at the memory. “And then you swatted my hand, and got real still, and I thought it was because you were looking at my cock and it’s big but it was because you saw Tetsurou’s name next to my belly button wasn’t it?”

“Yes, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said, trying to hide a laugh.

Well, he might have been glancing at Koutarou’s cock, but - well. That was neither here nor there.

Koutarou hummed for a moment, then stilled. “Hey - uh - did you discover a new soulmate mark on Kenma or something? Is it Tsukki? Is that why you guys have been doing all this? Did Kenma find out that he and Tsukki are soulmates?”

“You’re too loud, Kou,” Kenma complains from the doorway, shuffling in with a white kitten in his hands. He looks sleepy.

His eyes are sharp enough to give Akaashi an appraising look, however. Evidently, he decides that whatever is happening is going to happen, because he just looks down at the floor where Mikoto is cleaning the last vestiges of cat food from the saucer before plopping Kushina onto the counter and fixing her some food of her own.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Akaashi snips. 

Kenma just shrugs, but he makes the concession of putting the saucer onto the floor, picking Mikoto up in the process and coming over to the table. “You’re talking about Kei?”

“Yeah!” Koutarou says, almost bouncing in his seat. “Can I see it? Where is it? When did you find it?”

“I don’t have a new mark, Kou,” Kenma grumbles, sitting cross-legged on the chair and letting Mikoto melt into the space between his legs. “Well, not yet, at least. Maybe not ever.”

It’s possible, Akaashi knows. Developing marks for Tsukishima - that would make so many things easier, wouldn’t it? Koutarou’s mark for Kenma hadn’t developed until he’d activated his name in the small of Kenma’s back, and there were always stories -

But...

“Do you have to have a mark to love someone?” Akaashi asks, feeling wistful as he thinks back over his time with Tsukishima the night before.

“Of course not!” Bokuto says. “I love lots of people! Mom, my sisters, my nephew, Konoha, Miya two, Yacchan -”

“Do you think you can be in love?” asks Kenma. His voice is small, and he’s looking down at the cat in his lap, fingers trembling.

For a moment Akaashi is scared that Kotarou won’t get it. Kenma seems so vulnerable here, like this -

But of course, he shouldn’t’ve worried.

Koutarou hums, reaching over to scratch between Mikoto’s ears as he asks, “Are you in love with Tsukki?”

It’s a valid question.

It makes Akaashi examine his own feelings, wondering if there was anything forced or artificial about them. When Kenma had first talked to him about the idea, he’d made it clear that he didn’t think all relationships in something poly needed to be the same. He’d done research. It was Kenma, of course, he’d done research. He’d talked about Vs, and Ws, and triangles, and squares, and all sorts of other things until Akaashi had needed to remind himself that sometimes Kenma needed definitions and terms in order to ground himself inside his own feelings. 

Because there was one truth - one very big truth - that had set the ball rolling on all of this.

“Kuro is.”

“Huh.”

The silence stretches out, broken only by the sounds of one cat eating from a porcelain plate and another purring as he gets attention from two people. It gives Akaashi space to think. He wonders if he’d even recognize what it feels like to fall in love. He was in so deep with Kuroo and Kenma and Koutarou, and even from the start, it was never really a question he’d had to ask himself. Love seemed like such a flimsy term - they were his everything. He knew without even thinking that he’d do anything for them if they needed, give up a limb, an eye, a kidney -

He knew he didn’t feel that strongly for Tsukishima. Not quite, not yet.

But he hadn’t felt that way about Kenma in the beginning, either. Certainly not about Kuroo.

“You never told me how you feel,” Koutarou prods, letting his fingers slide over the back of Kenma’s hand.

Kenma takes a deep breath before answering, “Crush, I think. When I let myself like him, it was -”

Easy, Akaashi thinks. Natural. Right.

“Scary,” finishes Kenma. 

“Scary?” Kotarou asks.

“It’s a lot of feelings. People are hard.”

People are unpredictable. People can’t be programmed, controlled. People aren’t safe.

“Loving someone means you can get your heart broken,” Akaashi murmurs, watching Kenma nod in reply.

“Kuro hurts,” Kenma continued. “A lot. He hides it, but I know it’s there. And Kei - you can see it -”

“Do you just want to make them happy?” 

Kenma starts to shake his head, pauses, continues with a firm shake. “I like him,” he says. “He’s comfortable, and interesting, and funny. He’s, ah... Attractive, too. I want more. Want to see, at least, ah... Is that ok?”

It’s a lot of words about feelings to be coming from Kenma. This whole conversation has been. Warmth spreads through Akaashi’s chest as Koutarou reaches out, brushing hair back from Kenma’s cheek as he looks up, worry etched on his face.

“It’s ok,” Koutarou says. “I like Tsukki a lot too. Haven’t thought a lot about us dating him, uh, so that’s new - but I’m not opposed or anything. I mean, it’s Tsukki. Uh, but why aren’t we telling Kuroo about this?”

Face scrunching up in annoyance, Kenma says, “I’ve tried.”

Akaashi isn’t sure that he’s tried all that hard, not really. But then again... “Tetsurou can be stubborn,” Akaashi says. “And, ah. Nothing is set in stone, yet? We wanted to sort of, ah, examine the idea before we raised anyone’s hopes.”

That makes Koutarou laugh. “I don’t see what’s so hard. We should all just sit Kuro down and say, hey dude, we all wanna ask Tsukki out are you in?”

Kenma groans, shifting so that Mikoto makes a noise of protest before jumping off his lap. “I’ve thought about it,” Kenma says. “But he might not believe us, or he might be all weird around Kei, and everything would just - ugh. I thought if he could see how much we like being with him, that’s not just -”

“Hmm,” replies Koutarou, leaning back in his seat. “Well, I still think we should tell him but - huh. We’re just being friendly right now, right?”

Akaashi nods, thinking back to his dinner the previous night. Some of what he’d done might have crossed the line into a bit more than friendly, but he could gloss over that a bit.

“Alright. Ok. I guess,” says Koutarou, looking thoughtful. “Well, just as long as we do talk to him before anything serious happens, yeah?”

The hesitation before Kenma nods makes Akaashi suspicious.

Sometimes he hates not knowing what Kenma is plotting.

He’s pretty sure Koutarou noticed the hesitation as well, but he purses his lips and nods. “Alright then. Operation Seduce Tsukki is a go!”

Kenma snorts. “You’re a dork.”

“Yeah, but you love me,” Koutarou says, crossing his arms over his chest and looking for all the world like he’s just won a gold medal.

Akaashi smiles, loving the way that the two of them look at each other. He runs his fingers over the table, thinking about how they should probably pull out the leaf that’s tucked away next to the refrigerator and get out another chair, just in case. 

He hopes.

The sound of the door opening and Kuroo calling out as he enters makes Akaashi laugh, raising his voice to join the others as they welcome him home. He thinks of golden hair and light brown eyes behind thin glasses, and wants Tsukishima to be here with them as well.

Soon. Maybe - soon.


	10. Desire (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this took a bit long, it's been a rough week. It's a longer chapter though! With smut~~ so I hope you enjoy!

A brush dipping into wet ink. Bristles sliding across washi. Words of a poem written over three centuries ago that are still true today.

Kunimi breathes.

In his mind, he envisions doing this while kneeling at a desk in front of an open door with a garden before him, listening to the gentle burbling of a stream and the occasional hollow thud of the souzu as it overflows, spilling out the water it has accumulated before falling back once more. He dreams of being able to look up and see perfectly raked beds of pebbles like the ocean around the islands of Japan. Maybe finishing a scroll and later hanging it up in the tokonoma, hosting a tea ceremony, letting the ritual flow over him to where he is at one with everything around him.

Someday.

The brush shudders, marring the kanji, and he huffs out a sigh.

He closes his eyes.

Imperfections happen, he can just move past it; he should, it’s like a wrong note in a piano recital, but -

But he knows that the mistake is a reflection of a disturbance within his own soul.

Scrunching up his nose, he shakes his head at the drama inherent in that thought. Today, it is enough.

He places his brush to one side and stands, carrying the sheet over to a rack to dry. He looks at the paper from the day before and considered starting the process to mount it properly, but decides that wouldn’t be suitable with how he’s feeling today. 

There’s time.

For now, he just cleans his brush and the inkstone, closing the book of poems that he had been using and putting it away. Another book on the shelf catches his eye.

Well. Not book.

Photo album.

He swallows, fingers running over the dark blue binding. His mother had picked it out. Chosen the photos. Pieced it together with little decorative elements and paper, labeled everything with dates and events and the names of the people that she knew. It was supposed to be a present to help him celebrate Kitagawa Daiichi’s victories.

He’d never told her what he’d done to Kageyama. What he’d convinced the other’s to do.

Kindaichi has never asked him about the album.

Of course, it’s on Kunimi’s bookshelf, in Kunimi’s corner of their living room. It isn’t like Kindaichi to pry. He respects Kunimi’s hobbies but has never been terribly interested in calligraphy or the old illustrated books of poems that Kunimi collects. Kunimi knows that someday Kindaichi wants to help him achieve his dream of living in a traditional house with a garden, knows that Kindaichi will enjoy making sure all the furniture and woodwork in the house is as close to authentic as possible, but their interests in this are complementary. They don't intersect except in appreciation. 

Kunimi wonders if Kageyama would have the patience for calligraphy, and laughs.

The sound cuts his throat.

He pulls out the album and sets it to the side as he finishes cleaning up, fingers glancing over the cover as he finds things to try and distract himself from its presence.

Giving up, he sighs, picking the album up and taking it to the overstuffed chair near the window. Swallowing, he looks at the picture of three boys trapped in time behind the plastic cut-out on the front cover.

Innocent. At one point, they’d been so innocent.

It’s impossible for him to deny that he’s always loved them both.

He opens the front cover, smiling at the happy lettering that his mom had used to welcome those who viewed the album. She’d chosen blues and greens for most of the decorations. Little candies and suckers covered in white and blue plaid wrappers, green and brown trees, bluebirds and volleyballs and bright blue flowers. There were little cards with captions describing events in her neat handwriting. Pictures of Tobio and Yuutarou and Akira splayed out on a blanket after a race at a picnic, or posing at a festival - that one made him laugh, he looks so bored standing with a limp flag while Tobio holds up a bag with a goldfish and Yuutarou clutches a huge stuffed dog.

Someday maybe they’ll have a dog.

Though dogs are so enthusiastic and loud - maybe not.

Maybe they’ll just have a Tobio.

Hope is a splinter in his heart as he turns the page again, sees pictures of their games, of the trip they took to the concrete beach, of pillow forts and sleepovers and end of year ceremonies - so many good things.

He knows without thinking which picture was taken the day after he discovered Tobio’s mark.

He doesn’t know which mark came first. Kindaichi had discovered his own name on Kunimi’s back, pressed a hand there one afternoon and made Kumini twist to look at him, apologized a million times before Kunimi convinced him that he hadn’t minded.

Kunimi smiles, remembering a time when Kindaichi had been shy and oh-so-careful around him, almost like he was in awe of the fact that they were paired up with marks. Oh, how he loved him.

And Kageyama -

He remembers an afternoon when Kageyama had almost discovered the mark. They’d been playing a game and had fallen together awkwardly, Kageyama’s hand sliding up under his shorts to touch his thigh. He remembered Kageyama rolling away with a red face and ears, covering his face with his hands. He remembers looking down and seeing blue and black lines wrapping around his skin like music.

He’d curled away from Kageyama almost instinctively, pulled his leg up to hide the mark’s colors, looked around to make sure Kindaichi hadn’t seen. Kindaichi, he remembers, had been talking to Iwaizumi, missing the whole exchange. No one else had seen.

It had been his secret.

A part of him wished -

Wanted - 

Needed -

The trill of his ringtone cut through his thoughts and he set the album to the side, recognizing it as the one belonging to his friends but not Kindaichi. 

“Hello?” he answered, forgetting to see which one of his friends it was.

That question was answered immediately.

“Ah, Nimi-chan!”

Oh. Wow.

“Hello, Oikawa-senpai,” Kunimi says, nose crinkling at the nickname.

“How is my favorite kohai this evening?”

“I’m not sure, I haven’t talked to Yahaba-senpai lately.”

“Kunimi!” Oikawa says, aghast.

Some jokes never get old.

“I’m alright,” Kunimi allows, fingers brushing over a photo in front of him. It’s focused on Kindaichi proudly showing him some paper, but Kunimi can see Iwaizumi chasing after Oikawa in the background. The look on Oikawa’s face is far from flattering. He wonders if he should share it with Hanamaki.

“Just alright?” asks Oikawa.

He’s fishing. Then again, Oikawa is always fishing. The question is, what is he fishing for this time? Kunimi hummed, thinking. “Should I be doing better than alright?”

“Of course!” There’s a pause, long enough to make Kunimi suspicious, before Oikawa continues, “You get to see your favorite senpai this weekend!”

“Ah, Matsukawa-senpai is going to be back in the country by then?”

“You’re so rude to me, Nimi-chan! What did I do to deserve this!”

So, so many things - but Kunimi isn’t actually going to say that. He did have limits, after all. Besides, they both knew that this one wasn’t quite a joke - Mattsun was definitely Kunimi’s favorite senpai, even if he was also very fond of Oikawa and Hanamaki. Iwaizumi was a given, but Kunimi was happy to let Kindaichi have all of Iwaizumi’s attention whenever they got together. 

“I heard his assignment got extended,” Kunimi says.

“He gets to come back for a few days before going back to Brazil or Italy or whatever country it is this time,” Oikawa grumbles, even though Kunimi has no doubt he has the details memorized. “Will probably bring Mr. Refreshing to the reunion, ugh. Some days it feels like I have more Karasuno brats in my life than Seijou.”

The reunion. Oh. Kunimi’s thoughts immediately drift to Kageyama, and he wonders -

That might be too forward, though. Too soon?

“By the way, speaking of Karasuno,” Oikawa says, “I hear you’d been hanging out with a certain setter recently.”

Kunimi flushes.

He’s glad Oikawa is on the phone and not right in front of him because this would be embarrassing otherwise. 

“Oh?” he asks, hoping his voice doesn’t squeak. How can a handful of words make him feel thirteen again? “Who told you -”

“You should know by now that I know everything, Nimi-chan,” Oikawa purrs. 

The sound of that voice makes Kunimi sit up a bit straighter. “Of course, Oikawa-senpai,” he says. Passivity makes for a great defense at times.

“He’s my kohai too, Akira.”

First name territory is scary.

He remembers now that Kageyama had mentioned Oikawa back at lunch. Hadn’t realized the two of them were close - but it made him happy, thinking about the two of them repairing their relationship. Everyone knew how important Oikawa had been to Kageyama in junior high and high school, and how much Oikawa had focused on Kageyama’s talent as a threat. Oikawa was a good senpai, though. A very good senpai. Better, perhaps, than Mattsun - but Mattsun was the type of senpai to spoil him, where Oikawa was the senpai who had pushed him to grow.

“We’ve seen him a few times,” Kunimi says carefully. 

He isn’t sure if Oikawa knows about the marks. Kunimi had taken up the habit of avoiding group showers and baths as soon as he’d discovered Kageyama’s mark and had persisted in the practice even after going to Seijou. But this was Oikawa, there’s no telling.

If Oikawa wants, Kunimi knows, he will find out. Oikawa can press and dig and lay everything bare. It’s terrifying. He wants Kageyama so much, but being forced to say those words out loud, to have to admit it to someone besides Kindaichi - has he even properly admitted it Kindaichi? Or hell, Kageyama himself -

“Be careful with him,” Oikawa says, voice more serious than Kunimi has heard in a while. “He’s a precious kohai.”

Silence stretches between them as Kunimi processes everything said in those few words. Warmth blossoms in his stomach, thankfulness for everything known but unspoken. It’s good to have Oikawa’s blessing in this. 

“Yes, senpai,” murmurs Kunimi, and that is that.

“Alright. You’re coming to the reunion though, yeah? You and Kindaichi both?”

“Yes. We will be there.” Kunimi thinks again about inviting Kageyama, but - well.

Maybe not -

That might be -

“We will see you then. Ah, Watari-kun is calling, so I should answer it - unless you want to talk?”

Kunimi knows he can always talk to Oikawa if he needs to, knows that he too is one of his senpai’s precious kohai. “Ah, no thank you. Maybe later.”

He can hear the door cracking open, knows that means that Kindaichi is home. He smiles, fingers pausing on the photo album before closing it as he says goodbye to Oikawa and stands, answering Kindaichi’s announcement that he’s home.

“Welcome back,” he says, moving to the kitchen and pouring two glasses of cool water.

He hears the weariness in Kindaichi’s footsteps, the way he wanders into the living room because he knows Kunimi will find him there. A flash of guilt creeps into Kunimi’s mind as he glances at the stove and the empty pan there. He’d meant to cook dinner tonight. Honestly.

Time just gets away from him some days.

He’s thinking of places they could call as he wanders toward Kindaichi, noticing he’d chosen the same chair that Kunimi had sat in earlier. “Long day?” Kunimi asks, gaze straying to the photo album on the table next to the chair. 

Kindaichi has one hand covering his eyes as he leans back, sighing deeply. “Eh, just a lot of heavy lifting,” he murmurs, looking up and thanking Kunimi as he takes one of the glasses of water.

Kunimi hesitates for a moment and then presses his legs against Kindaichi’s knees, waits for the smile and small nod before climbing into his boyfriend’s lap and straddling him. Sitting back, he says, “It sounds like you got a lot accomplished.”

“Yeah.” Kindaichi takes a long drink of water, watching Kunimi do the same. 

It’s hard not to give in to the impulse to arch himself under that gaze, distract Kindaichi from any thoughts of work. Well, work or anything else.

Kindaichi’s free hand slips down over the fabric of Kunimi’s button down shirt, pressing against his waist. “What’s for dinner?” he asks.

Damn.

“Ah, what are you in the mood for?” Kunimi asks.

From the way Kindaichi’s eyes narrow, he knows things won’t be that easy. The hand at his waist slips under the shirt and squeezes, sliding around and feeling over his stomach. 

“Did you remember to eat today?” asks Kindaichi, setting his glass of water down and reaching up to unbutton Kunimi’s shirt. He frowns, that annoying frown he gets when he’s worried that Kunimi is losing weight.

He isn’t, he doesn’t think.

If he is, he can always just buy more sweets.

“I did eat,” Kunimi says, taking another swallow of water. It’s only his second glass of the day, and he knows he should drink more. “I ate some of the leftover chicken? And rice. Ah, if you want I think there’s rice in the freezer, I could make onigiri? Or we could order curry takeout, or hmm...”

“The beef has been in the refrigerator all day, hasn’t it.”

“Ah, yes,” replies Kunimi. He’d meant to budget time to slice it into strips for stir-fry. Meant to cook up some noodles and heat up some sauce. 

He just gets so distracted sometimes.

He isn’t going to tell Kindaichi that he hadn’t eaten lunch until almost three.

“You and your Tuesdays,” Kindaichi sighs, taking the glass of water from Kunimi and setting it to the side, almost spilling it on the photo album that he didn’t expect to be there. It makes him pause.

Makes Kunimi’s heart rate speed up when Kindaichi picks it up, examining the photo on the front before giving Kunimi a puzzled look.

“I,” Kunimi starts, not sure if he should feel guilty or not, “I ran across it today.”

For a moment, he’s tempted to get up and go to the kitchen or turn the conversation back to food. Food isn’t scary, after all; he just often forgets to eat because he can go for hours without getting hungry or thirsty. That’s not a huge deal when he’s with Kindaichi or at the college or at work. There, he has a schedule. He has someone to remind him. 

Alone, he gets distracted far too easily. 

Kindaichi opens the album, setting it between them and starting to flip through it. “I didn’t know you had this,” he says. 

The wonder in his voice makes Kunimi ashamed, though it isn’t like he’d kept it hidden. It isn’t like they make a habit of exploring each other’s space, really; they’ve never felt the need to share every single thing. Still, this is something that isn’t actually private.

It involves all three of them.

“My mom gave it to me way back when,” Kunimi finally said. “I don’t - ah. I don’t look at it often. It just caught my eye.”

Kindaichi chuckles. “I remember this picnic,” he said. “Oh, and this here - man, I remember competing with Kageyama to see who could get the most rings around the bottles at that one booth. He was so grumpy when I won - then I tore my paper when we tried to catch a goldfish. You were so lazy that night.”

Reaching out, Kunimi threads his fingers through the side of Kindaichi’s hair, feeling the stiffness of the gel he uses to keep it up. “I’m always lazy,” he muses.

“Hmm, not always.”

There’s a flash of heat in Kindaichi’s gaze that surprises Kunimi, even though it shouldn’t. After all, he’s half-stripped out of his shirt. If not for the interruptions -

It feels strange to have these thoughts with an album of their adolescent selves balanced between them. Kunimi thinks back to the conversation with Oikawa, thinks of his concerns. He should tell Kindaichi about the reunion again, though he knows they’ve discussed it several times. For now though - “I want to date him.”

The fingers turning the album pages still, and Kindaichi looks at him without saying a word.

It’s terrifying.

It’s terrifying but he doesn’t back down. He needs to have this honesty between them. If Kindaichi disagrees -

Well. They’ll talk about it. Talk like they did when Kunimi wanted to go to America for a year even though he knew being that far away from Kindaichi would be hard, like they had when Kunimi had wanted to buy a cat but Kindaichi thought it wouldn’t work in their current space, talk. They’ll figure it out.

But it’s hard when Kunimi wants this so much. Wants to fix things, wants a reset, wants to try.

“You?” Kindaichi asks, expression carefully neutral.

It takes Kunimi a moment to interpret that. He plays through his words and furrows his brow - oh. “Well, us,” he says. “I mean if you -”

The relieved sigh that Kindaichi exhales lets him know he’d figured things out right. “Us, ok, yeah,” Kindaichi says, a smile breaking over his previous stilted expression. “Yeah, ok. I want us to date him too.”

Kunimi giggles. “Of course I meant us,” he says, reaching down and curling his fingers around Kindaichi’s where they rest on the pages of the photo album. “It’s always us, after all.”

“Always,” Kindaichi repeats.

It’s impossible to keep from returning Kindaichi’s smile as Kunimi looks at him. He even has to lean forward, resting their foreheads together. “Always.”

Kindaichi chuckles, slipping one hand around to the small of Kunimi’s back. “I love you even if you forget to cook dinner,” he says.

“Hey. I love you even if you leave the coffee pot on when you go to work.”

“Oh. I did that again?”

Kunimi nods, feeling Kindaichi’s forehead press against his own. He doesn’t want to move back though. “We should probably buy one of those ones with an auto-off.”

“That one was such a good deal, though!”

“Well, it’s either that or buy another pot if it boils down like it did the week before last.”

Kindaichi sighs, pushing Kunimi back. “I’ll just learn to remember,” he says, looking down at the photo album with a smile. “Someday I want to go through all of these.”

“Not tonight?”

“No. Tonight, I want to shower, and - hmm. That Thai place takes about forty-five minutes to deliver, right? Think we can shower that quick?”

Confused, Kunimi furrows his brow. Kindaichi can shower in five minutes, what does he -

Oh.

“Sure,” Kunimi replies. He smiles, picking up the photo album and returning it to the bookshelf as Kindaichi calls in their usual order. He’s stripping off his shirt in the bathroom when Kindaichi comes in behind him, hands slipping around Kunimi’s waist as they look at their reflections in the mirror.

“I wonder where his marks are,” Kindaichi muses, kissing Kunimi’s neck as he unbuttons his pants. There’s stubble on his chin that scrapes against Kunimi’s skin. 

Kunimi feels an urgency bubbling up under his skin, a need to taste and take. Kageyama’s marks. He wonders. Kindaichi’s hands trail up his chest, pinching, nails scratching. It doesn’t help Kunimi’s hunger in the least.

Oh, so now he’s hungry.

The thought makes him laugh, gasp when Kindaichi tugs on a nipple before pushing him forward, pulling his pants down and then kicking his legs open as he leans over the counter. “Do you think he’d like to see you like this?” Kindaichi growls, kneeling down on the shaggy bath mat in front of the counter. “I wonder if he’d want to know how easy it is to make you come apart. Think he’d be able to handle you? Keep up? Fuck, no wonder you have two marks, you’re so insatiable... we could just pass you between us for hours and you probably wouldn’t be satisfied.”

It feels almost indecent to be talking about Kageyama like this when he isn’t here. Kunimi laughs again, almost nervous, gasping when Kindaichi leans in and bites his ass. 

“What if his mark is here, hmm?” Kindaichi asks. “That would’ve been awkward if his boyfriend saw it -”

“Ex-boyfriend,” Kunimi says, tilting his hips as Kindaichi licks a strip up over his asshole. “Ah, it’s not -”

“You want something else today?”

He does.

Kindaichi reads him well enough to lean back, hands sliding up so that his fingers brush over his own mark and make Kunimi sigh. It’s addictive, the feeling of that touch. It’s like he can feel the feathers spreading out even though he can’t see them, light and almost ticklish. It’s different from the sharp sweetness he remembers from Kageyama’s touch. The thought of having both of them touching him like this at the same time - “I want to take both of you someday,” he admits, imagining himself sitting back on Kindaichi’s lap with Kageyama kneeling between their legs. 

“Fuck,” whispers Kindaichi. “Like both of us inside you? Is that even possible? Maybe we could take turns, one of us slipping in and out while the other gets ready, just -”

Kunimi giggles, all of it is just too much. “I don’t know. I don’t know, I’m just - fuck -”

Thankfully Kindaichi knows, Kindaichi understand. Stands and wraps his arms around him, holding him close. “Shh, shh,” he murmurs, hands spread wide over his skin. “We’ll take care of you. Just breathe.”

Heartbeats chase heartbeats, breath follows breath. Slowly, equilibrium comes back.

Kindaichi takes care of him. Kindaichi always takes care of him. Even on days like these, where he’s drifted so deep into his own head that readjusting to the world is hard. 

Kunimi breathes.

“Thank you for telling me,” Kindaichi whispers, pulling back and turning him around. “Do you want to wash my back?”

Nodding, Kunimi watches as he strips himself bare, devouring all the muscles that are revealed as clothing falls to the floor. It’s easy to step forward, hand raising to touch the kanji on Kindaichi’s upper back. Blue-black crescents spread out under his touch, covering Kindaichi’s shoulder-blade, straying up towards his shoulder. Calm. He wants calm. “Can I?” he asks.

Throwing a crooked grin over his shoulder, Kindaichi says, “Yeah.”

Yeah. Of course. Always.

It makes Kunimi shake his head, and he pushes Kindaichi toward the shower, staying near the back as Kindaichi adjusts the water to the temperature he knows Kunimi likes. Kindaichi is good like that. He’d even made little marks along the knobs one day so that Kunimi could start the water before getting under the water.

Someday, they’ll have a place with one of the fancy bathrooms where they can set the water at the right temperature before it comes out.

Someday.

Water spills over Kindaichi’s shoulder and Kunimi leans forward, pressing his lips against the mark there and letting his hands curl around Kindaichi’s hips. The moan he hears is small but present. It makes him smile against Kindaichi’s skin, brushing his lips over to Kindaichi’s spine, licking up the water there.

He doesn’t spoil Kindaichi nearly as often as Kindaichi spoils him, but this is nice. More than nice.

He thinks of saying something about Kageyama again. Glances up to where he can see the edge of Kageyama’s mark behind Kindaichi’s ear. Kindaichi’s ears are already sensitive - if Kageyama were to kiss him there -

The sheer want to be together with him is almost overwhelming, makes him step forward, wrap his arms around Kindaichi’s back and bite his shoulder. 

“Whatever you want,” Kindaichi murmurs, sliding a bottle into Kunimi’s hand before rubbing his arm. “You know I want you, baby, want all of this. Whatever you want.”

But Kunimi wants so much.

There’s something almost overpowering about having control handed to him, about the way that Kindaichi puts his hands against the tile by the showerhead, the way he leans his head forward so the water is crashing against the back of his neck. Kindaichi’s body is chiseled with muscles from volleyball that never faded away, that only got more refined as Kindaichi switched to lifting blocks of wood and carrying furniture up and down stairs. Kindaichi is strength personified. 

It’s so different than the way Kunimi has let himself soften. For just a split second he worries that Kageyama won’t like that. Foolish, it’s a foolish thought. He knows he’s thinking too much about sex and bodies and what’s between the three of them is deeper -

But this is safer.

This, he knows, and knows well, at least with Kindaichi.

He runs a hand down Kindaichi’s spine, flicking the cap of the tube that Kindaichi had given him. Kindaichi is beautiful like this. Beautiful as Kunimi slides a slick finger over his hole, wiggling it a minute before slipping it inside to the first knuckle. Tight. Kindaichi is tight. Kindaichi doesn’t really like - but he’ll let him. Still, he’s shaking a bit, making small panting noises as Kunimi threatens to push in deeper. They both have limits, even if they’re willing to let the other cross them.

But it’s enough just to look, to twist his hand, pull Kindaichi open without pressing in too deep. It’s enough to have the option.

Besides...

Kindaichi’s thighs are strong and thick.

Swallowing, Kunimi slicks up his cock and puts the tube to one side, tapping the side of Kindaichi’s leg.

“That?” Kindaichi asks, pressing his thighs together. 

“Shower,” Kunimi explains. “Plus, if I’m going to truly take you apart I want to have the time to do it properly.”

Kindaichi gives a shaky laugh at that, groaning as Kunimi reaches around and wraps a slick hand around his cock. It’s easy then to press forward, pushing his own cock into the tight space between Kindaichi’s thighs, wrap an arm around Kindaichi’s chest and lean forward, surrounding himself with Kindaichi’s strength.

This is restful.

He sighs, listening to Kindaichi’s small groans, feeling the way his ass flexes as he presses back to meet each of Kunimi’s thrusts. He’s whispering something with every breath, small curses that makes Kunimi smile. A hand moves from the wall to cover where Kunimi is holding his chest, and Kunimi bites at his shoulder blade, not really minding so much.

This is good. Fucking good. Good fucking.

The thought of Pad Thai has him speeding his strokes of Kindaichi’s cock, chasing his own pleasure with every thrust. He should take care of Kindaichi tonight. He muses, thinking of plans, enjoying the sensation of the wet heat surrounding him, all the ways that Kindaichi is moving that are utterly perfect.

Kindaichi’s cry echoes against the tile wall as his release paints the tile in front of them. Good, so good. Kunimi steps back and takes his cock in hand, twisting his fingers and tightening around the tip as he strokes roughly, drinking in the sight of Kindaichi still bent over in front of him. It doesn’t take long for him to cover that fantastic back and ass with his own release.

The water immediately starts to wash it away.

It makes him smile.

“I guess I really do need to wash your back now,” he says.

Kindaichi laughs and shakes his head. “Do a good job, alright? The whole thing.”

“The whole thing?” Kunimi teases.

He hears Kindaichi’s breath hitch a bit at that and decides that yes, he definitely needs to take care of Kindaichi tonight. Take care of him slowly, drinking in every sound, reminding Kindaichi how important he is and how much Kunimi loves and desires him. Hopefully that’s never in question, but reinforcing it doesn’t hurt.

No, Kunimi decides as he squirts body wash into his hands and eyes Kindaichi’s back again, it doesn’t hurt at all.

~~~~~~

It feels strange not to call out a welcome as he walks through his own apartment door. Almost worse is the thought that no one is there to answer him.

Tsukishima has had a long day.

The phone call from Kozume was the highlight of it, if he’s honest. Kenma is, hmm. Relaxing. They share a sense of humor, and Tsukishima doesn’t even feel bad about the one or two sarcastic comments he’d let himself make about a couple of their past associates on the court. He trusts Kenma. Wonders a bit what type of game Kenma has going on under the surface - he’s relatively sure Kenma is almost always up to something, on some level - but trusts him still.

For a moment he wishes he was bold enough to invite Kenma over to discuss the game in more detail, or invite himself over to their apartment -

But that would be too much. Besides, he feels oddly shy about seeing Kuroo right now. It isn’t a thought he wants to examine too closely.

Sighing, he slips off his shoes and walks into the living room, avoiding bumping his shins on the coffee table because of the streetlight shining in through the window. A part of him just wants to collapse on the couch and watch something mindless for an hour before dozing off. He could do that. The couch is comfortable.

He and Kageyama had enjoyed a night or two on that couch, but -

But he doesn’t want to think about that right now.

It’s hard not to think about Kageyama now that he’s home and alone.

The day has been full of annoying people wanting his attention. His boss had come in with a proposal request that needed to be rewritten, one of the exhibit designers had pulled him out to consult on something that wasn’t even close to his field, and a bunch of his coworkers had convinced him to go out with them to a bar after work.

That had been loud and annoying. He wished he felt more comfortable saying no. Maybe once he had a full-time job at the museum and wasn’t just an intern.

Maybe.

He’d only had one drink - well, two. It still shouldn’t be enough to make him feel this tired.

Sighing, he reaches out, pulling a pillow to his chest and frowning when he feels soft fabric underneath.

Oh.

That is -

Tsukishima holds up the pair of navy underwear in his hand, mind betraying him by traveling back to the exact moment he’d stripped them off of Kageyama’s ass and stuffed them in his mouth. Kageyama had needed something to bite down on considering the sounds he’d made as Tsukishima fingered him open, making him stick his ass up so Tsukishima could -

He shouldn’t be thinking about this.

Gritting his teeth, he growls them and throws them in a corner. He should just clean up all of Kageyama’s things. Set up an appointment with him, shove things in a box - two boxes - three - how much stuff did Kageyama have at his place?

Too much, it was too much.

He shouldn’t miss him. It hurts, feels like he’s cracked open, all these little earthquakes and aftershocks and the moments where he wishes he’d said something different the last time they’d talked.

Except he knows he said what he truly means.

Maybe he’s just lonely.

He sighs, gets up and walks to the bedroom, falling down on the bed. Rolling over, he pulls his keys and phone out of his pockets and sets them on the bedside table, shoving his jeans off and down and throwing them and his shirt into the basket in the corner. He needs to do laundry soon too.

He dreads the thought of finding Kageyama’s dirty laundry mixed in with his own. Smelling Kageyama’s scent on his own shirts. Uncovering the tie that they’d used as a blindfold -

Ugh.

Reaching a hand down he palms his cock. Maybe it’s just that his body is so used to having sex regularly. Maybe he should just get himself off so he stops thinking such cursed thoughts. He could just call up Suna and - 

Ugh, no wait, Suna is on a date with Kita tonight, he’d been all excited about it when he’d called Tsukishima to ask if he could show them the museum tomorrow.

That just leaves him and his hand.

Ah well. That isn’t so bad. He’s good at it, at least - slides his underwear down and decides to spoil himself by using lube, gets out the tissues to clean up afterward. A few strokes in and he’s hard, relaxed, thoughts slipping.

He wonders if Suna is good at blowjobs. Kageyama had been very very good. He draws a shaky breath, imagines that his hand is a mouth, remembers sliding his hand into dark hair and looking down into blue eyes as Kageyama knelt between his legs. It makes him ache to remember. Makes it impossible to deny that they’d shared something real. Makes him miss long nights and tangled limbs, soft confessions Kageyama would whisper into his skin like the words hurt. He isn’t exactly sad it’s over, but - well.

He grieves.

But not now.

Making a face, he speeds up his strokes, determined to get this out and over with. Safer, someone safer to think about. Ah, yes, Suna. That little smirk, the way he’d bent so nicely, the way he’d gasped beneath Tsukishima’s thrusts. Yes, that‘s good. Very good.

But then the image shifts and the eyes under him are dark gold, hair messier, shorter, the look on the face in Tsukishima’s mind matching up with the same one Kuroo wore when he got the right answer to a really difficult problem -

Fuck. Fuck. No. What the hell?

He pulls his hand off his dick and rolled to the side, cheeks red. 

Where had that come from?

He can’t even look down at himself. He can’t be thinking like that about Kuroo! Especially after having such a good night with Akaashi, oh, the way Akaashi’s fingers had felt against his skin, that made his stomach tighten with thoughts - no, no - and Kenma’s voice on the phone -

Bokuto. Thinking of Bokuto should be safe.

Except -

Oh, no, it wasn’t.

Fuck, dammit and he was supposed to see him in a couple of days, how would he face him when his mind was being oh-so-helpful at supplying images of a topless Bokuto flexing, or Akaashi wearing -

Fuck, he needed to bleach his mind.

Maybe he just needed to get laid.

Maybe -

His phone rings and he answers it, praying for someone to distract him from this personal hell.

“Hey, ah, Tsukki?”

Oh. Fuck.

“Ah, yes, Kuroo-san?” Tsukishima replies, trying like hell to make sure his voice doesn’t betray his inner turmoil.

Of all the people -

“Um, hopefully I’m not catching you at a bad time - I’m not, am I?”

“No.” Just the worst of all possible times.

His dick is starting to get cold, and Tsukishima covers it instinctively with his hand, cursing instinct almost immediately. Why the hell is he still hard.

“Ah, well. Uh, Koutarou said he had been meaning to doublecheck and make sure about the time you guys were meeting up Wednesday? Also said there was an afterparty if you wanted to go, uh - he had to catch the train back a few minutes ago and forgot his charger, the big idiot, but uh - I just - I told him I’d check with you.”

“Thank you, Kuroo-san.” 

In truth, the reality of hearing Kuroo’s voice helps. There is a difference between the person Tsukishima had been imagining and the man on the phone. Kuroo is - well.

Kuroo is real and important. Tsukishima pushes back the emotions that well up at him at the sound of his voice. Taken. Kuroo is taken, Kuroo is in love and his partners are so very important to him. Tsukishima never wants to trespass on that.

“Ah,” Kuroo continues, “Also, I was wondering if -”

“Yes?”

There is a pause, and it feels unnatural. It isn’t like Kuroo to be so hesitant.

“Oh, I’ll just - I’ll ask you later - uh, hey, Kenma had a question I think, if that’s ok?”

“Oh. Yes, of course.”

He wonders, blots out false hope and sadness and lust and all the other inappropriate feelings trying to dig their claws into them. Then he worries - Kuroo had sounded so, well -

He isn’t sure.

“Hello, Kei,” said a soft voice on the other end of the line.

“Kozume.”

That earns him a huff. “I told you to call me Kenma.”

Tsukishima smiles, makes a soft noise of acknowledgment. 

“If I didn’t know better,” Kenma grumbles, “I’d say you were teasing me.”

He is, and they both know that. Makes him smile wider. He’s tempted to say something else, but its a dangerous thing with his dick in his hand and a sex-addled brain. Kenma would figure it out in a heartbeat, he thinks.

He also doubts that Kenma would actually mind. That thought surprises him. Still, it’s all-around inappropriate, so he says, “What did you need, Kozume-san?”

Ok, maybe a bit of teasing is acceptable.

He hears an indrawn breath that probably signals more indignation, and has to hold back a chuckle.

“Ankylosaurus,” Kenma says.

It takes Tsukishima a moment to switch gears. “Ah, what?” He’d known there was no way he and Kenma were on the same train of thought, but -

“Do you happen to know their normal rate of growth? Uh, I mean, I was just putting some parameters into a spreadsheet and found out I forgot to put it in my notes, and since Kuro had you on the line already -”

“Oh,” Tsukishima says. “No.”

“Oh.”

There’s a pause. Tsukishima wonders if it’s awkward or just normal for Kenma when he’s working. 

“Ah, sorry,” Kenma says, huffing again. “I’ll just, ah -”

“If you want to send me a note, I’ll look it up for you tomorrow.”

“Oh, uh, ok. Yeah, that’s fine. I didn’t, um -”

A voice in the background says, “Not everyone stays up until midnight doing their work, you know.”

“Ack! I know, Keiji, stop sneaking up on me -”

Kenma sounds embarrassed for some reason. It’s almost cute.

Tsukishima halfway wishes he was there in the room to watch their interaction. He wonders if Akaashi is smirking, if Kenma is ducking his head. Wonders if Kuroo is watching the two of them fondly. There’d be extra space to sit if Bokuto was gone - even if he was there Tsukishima’s been in their living room, knows there’s plenty of room. All he needs is a chair in the corner -

No.

That’s not his place.

They’re just his friends, they can’t be his home.

“Kei? Are you alright?”

Fuck, he must’ve sighed out loud.

“Ah, I’m fine,” he murmurs.

“Are you sure? If you need anything - I didn’t mean to -”

“I’m fine,” he snaps.

“Oh.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck he’s a mess.

He hears Kenma swallow. “Ah, I mean, if you want to talk to Keiji, he’s here too. I know he’s a better listener, um.”

“No, it’s fine,” Tsukishima says, melting a bit at Kenma’s awkwardness. “I’m - ah. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like that. I’m just tired is all. Didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Ah, ok. Um. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” murmurs Tsukishima. “Ah, thank you, though. Kenma.”

It feels strangely intimate to say the name out loud. Not bad, though. The pleased little noise Kenma makes in response is interesting as well, but he lets that thought flow over and out.

“Well, if you want, I can wish you a good night then?” Kenma asks.

“Alright. Ah, I mean, good night.”

Kenma laughs. “Good night, Kei,” he says.

“Good night, Kenma.”

It feels foolish and warm, but he doesn’t really mind. He hangs up the phone and gets up to wash himself off, pondering the limits and comforts of friendship.

It’s enough, he thinks.

Friendship is enough.


	11. Recall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, work is starting back up so things are slowing down. I had this written, but getting it edited.... the next chapter is going through editing today though, so it will be ready to post :D but hopefully it's worth the wait.

Even after all these years, Akaashi’s habit of walking around their apartment buck naked in the morning is still disconcerting.

Kuroo knows the thought is foolish. Knows that he shouldn’t feel halfway ashamed for thinking lewd thoughts while he’s cuddling a sleeping Kenma, but he does. The white kitten coming up to rub against Akaashi’s ankles doesn’t help, especially when Akaashi leans down to pet her. It still amazes Kuroo that he gets to be with someone like Akaashi.

Not that Akaashi is perfect or anything. No, he has his bad habits. Leaves bags of chips out in the living room for the cats to get into. Forgets to put the cap back on the toothpaste. Waits forever to clip his toenails - he’d drawn blood once, scratching Kuroo’s leg when they slept together and he had a bad dream and kicked out - but despite the little annoyances, Akaashi is still, well.

Akaashi.

Grey-green eyes glance up, catching him staring from two rooms way through the open doorway.

Lips curl into a knowing smile.

Akaashi stands up and moves into the kitchen, disappearing from Kuroo’s view for a few seconds before coming back with two mugs in his hands.

It means that there is absolutely nothing between Kuroo and a perfect view of Akaashi’s body. He starts out at Akaashi’s face, of course, but temptation draws him down lower. And lower still, until he pauses on the dark kanji imprinted next to Akaashi’s belly button.

He wants to kiss it.

Lick it.

Watch dark crimson stain Akaashi’s skin like paint strokes.

“Coffee?” Akaashi asks, coming around the bed.

“Ah, I would but,” Kuroo says, looking down at Kenma who is curled up against his chest, face nuzzling close to his armpit. He has no idea how Kenma can breathe like that, but he doesn’t want to wake him.

Akaashi chuckles, climbing into the bed on the other side of Kuroo. “He’s sleeping like the dead right now,” he says. “I don’t think he’ll wake if you move.”

“Yeah, but he’s kinda cute like this, you know? Not like he’s ever this clingy when he’s awake - well, except when he’s coming up out of subspace.”

“Ah, true.”

The smirk on Akaashi’s face is galling. He’s the only one that can get Kenma into that state, after all. Occasionally Kuroo will try, but he knows he’s too gentle. He pulls it off occasionally with Akaashi, and Bokuto slips under easily, but Kenma - Kenma fights him.

Well, that or turns the table.

Reluctantly, Kuroo shifts, rolling onto his back and wiggling so that he can sit up next to Akaashi and take the offered mug. Akaashi’s nakedness is still disconcerting this close. Kuroo eyes the soulmark on his belly as he takes a sip of coffee, nose scrunching at the fact that Akaashi hasn’t put nearly enough sugar in it. At least it isn’t too sweet this time.

Another one of his quirks - only Kenma gets his coffee made properly when it comes to Akaashi.

Scratching his chin, Kuroo wonders if today is a shaving day before asking, “How long do we have you?”

“Meeting at eleven,” Akaashi murmurs. He takes a drink of his coffee before setting it on the nightstand, reaching down to pull the sheet up over himself. “I need to go over the edits for my review from Sunday first though, and so, mmm. I’ll be leaving in an hour and a half?”

An hour and a half. That’s not long.

Kenma grumbles in his sleep, kicks the covers off of his legs. Turns over onto his back and sprawls out, one hand hitting Kuroo in the chest.

It’s a wonder that doesn’t wake him.

For a breath, two, three, Kuroo watches Kenma’s face to see if it will - but Kenma just makes an awful scrunched expression and then settles back down, rolling over away from them and sighing as he drops back down into a dream.

“I wonder if he’ll be awake before I have to leave,” Akaashi muses, turning onto his side and looking at Kuroo.

“How late did he stay up?”

“Hmm. Three, maybe? I got up to get a drink at two-thirty and he was still hunched over his keyboard.”

“He’s getting really into this new game design, isn’t he?” Smiling fondly, Kuroo glances at Kenma before turning toward Akaashi. Thinking about Kenma’s game has him thinking about Tsukishima. He’s happy that the two of them were spending time getting to know each other.

He is.

A finger pressing against between his brows makes him aware that he’s frowning.

Looking up, he tries to think of an explanation, but Akaashi doesn’t ask. Yet.

Kuroo _is_ happy. Tsukishima is incredible, and he’d always thought that he and Kenma would get along well. That there’s always been this invisible gap between them - well. Kuroo has just chalked that up to the fact that they’re both fairly introverted people - ok, well very introverted in Kenma’s case. A small corner of his mind says that he’s the reason, that it’s his fault. 

So if they’re able to rise above those barriers and connect - well.

Why shouldn’t he be happy?

“He’s been spending a lot of time with Tsukishima-san, hasn’t he?” Akaashi muses, fingers tracing over Kuroo’s shoulder. “I think they spent a couple hours together on the phone yesterday at least, and then sometime last night as well.”

“That’s good. I’m glad they’re getting along so well.” The words feel hollow in his mouth, and Kuroo can only imagine how they sound to Akaashi. 

Humming in agreement, Akaashi says, “Tsukishima-san is easy to get along with.”

That reminds Kuroo that Akaashi had taken Tsukishima on his assignment Sunday. Kuroo had secretly looked up the restaurant yesterday when he was supposed to be studying. It had looked nice - really nice. Nice like the places that Akaashi often takes him. Kuroo tries to process how he feels about that, reaching down and tugging the sheet so that he can see Akaashi’s stomach, pressing fingers against the dark mark that spells out his name.

“Tetsurou,” whispers Akaashi. Keiji.

His Keiji.

His Keiji who reaches around and slides fingers over the name written on Kuroo’s lower back, sends shivers of current through his skin. 

“Bokuto gets to take him to the game tomorrow, too,” Kuroo whispers. It feels like a secret, like something he shouldn’t say out loud, not with these emotions swirling around inside him. 

“Tetsurou,” Akaashi murmurs, “are you jealous?”

It’s an impossible question.

He doesn’t look up, just watches his fingers spread layers of red over Akaashi’s stomach, thumb sliding over his ribcage. Inside, he grapples, trying to find the right answer. The presence of Kenma sleeping at his back is terrifying. What if he wakes up. What if he knows -

What if Kuroo can’t convince him -

But the truth lies right in front of him like a cracked egg that he’s desperate to hold together. 

No. He _will_ hold it together.

“Of course not,” he says, forcing a laugh. “What, I can go to a game with Bokuto any time, right? Besides, I’m busy Wednesday.”

Something tells him that Akaashi doesn’t believe him.

“Or, you could just ask him out for coffee or dinner, if you wanted. It would be perfectly fine.”

“We had coffee just last week though,” says Kuroo. It had been easy then. Tsukishima had needed him. Did he still need him? How was he doing? Kuroo wants to ask, wants to call, but for some reason it seems like it would be unwise right now - right?

“Bokuto, or Tsukishima?”

Kuroo freezes, fingers surrounded by crimson on Akaashi’s skin.

Sometimes he hates how easily Akaashi reads him.

There’s movement at his back that has him glance up in panic, suddenly all too aware of how quiet Kenma has been the last few minutes.

A hand presses against his lower back and traces up, slides around to his chest as Kenma curls up behind him, presses lips against the nape of his neck as his fingers run over the mark of his name below Kuroo’s ribs.

“There’s an event at the botanical gardens this Sunday evening,” Kenma says, voice halting, almost like he’s afraid to speak.

Or is that just in Kuroo’s head? It’s so hard to tell.

“Oh?” Kuroo asks, sliding his hand from Akaashi’s stomach to cover Kenma’s own, looking up into Akaashi’s unreadable eyes.

“Yeah. Wakatoshi offered to get us some tickets.”

“Oh.”

He sees Akaashi look over his shoulder at Kenma, can’t tell what’s passing between them.

Kenma huffs a quiet breath against his skin and says, “I bet Kei would like to see the gardens.”

It makes Kuroo wonder, feels almost like a peace offering of some sort. Everything still seems fragile, but maybe - well. Neither Bokuto or Akaashi would want to go, probably - Bokuto will probably be down at his dorms by then, and Akaashi works most Sundays - but maybe if he and Kenma took Tsukishima to the gardens - well -

Safe. Maybe that would be safe.

“That sounds nice,” Kuroo whispers, hating the weakness he hears in his own voice. “And if it’s evening and the sun is down, it won’t be too warm, right?”

There’s a pause before Kenma replies, “Yeah.”

Akaashi is looking behind him again, and Kuroo worries. 

Why did he turn into such a scaredy cat?

Grey-green eyes look down at him and Akaashi gives him a reassuring smile, raises a hand to brush his cheek. “I think that sounds like a great idea.”

Kuroo lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. Safe. Things are still safe. Kenma is hugging him tight, and everything is probably fine. 

The turmoil is probably all in his mind.

Still, it doesn’t hurt one bit when Akaashi kisses his forehead and pulls him close, when the two of them cradle him between them like he’s something precious to them.

He is. He knows he is.

It all just feels -

He thinks of golden hair and glasses and fingers tapping out rhythms on paper while rain patters against the window, and sighs again.

Too much.

But he’s sure everything will be fine.

~~~~~~

The last person Tsukishima expects to see when he walks into the lobby to greet Suna is the current ace of the Panasonic Panthers. Ojiro Aran is smiling, signing autographs, thanking well-wishers and kneeling down for a photo with a little girl. He’s sporting a brace on his left hand. Tsukishima remembers reading an article about his surgery, the fact that he’s expected to fully recover soon.

There’s a man with pale hair standing behind him, smiling fondly.

Ah.

Kita Shinsuke. Of course.

It all clicks together.

He’s just so used to seeing Aran paired up with his setter Sakishima these past few years, first at Daishoudai and then the Panthers. Honestly, he probably wouldn’t’ve followed them at all except that Kageyama liked the Panthers. He’d even gotten an offer from them - but Osaka was a long way away, and in the end, graduate school was more important than both the Panthers and FC Tokyo.

It’s funny how things work. Suna is walking back from the ticket counter, eyes bright as he slips his right hand into Kita’s left. Delicate black lines immediately sprout up and around Kita’s wrist in an art-deco design. It feels like a casually open display of intimacy, almost too open for Tsukishima’s tastes, but no one else seems to mind.

Maybe he’s just a bit off-kilter because of the fact that he’d been fantasizing about Suna only the night before.

“I could have gotten you a discount,” Tsukishima chides, stepping closer to Suna. 

Turning to him, Suna laughs. “It’s fine, it’s fine,” he says. “I’ve never been here before - can you believe it?”

He can.

There’s something childlike about the expression in Suna’s eyes, so different than how he looked on the courts or in the bar - or in bed. Kita looks over, expression soft as he watches Suna, gaze sharpening as it slips to Tsukishima.

“I am Kita Shinsuke,” he says, bowing the precise amount required for a formal greeting. “It’s nice to meet you. Suna has told me quite a bit about you.”

“Tsukishima Kei.” He returns the bow, fingers almost itching for a business card. He remembers that Kita was impressive, but he’d forgotten exactly how much.

Finally waving goodbye to his fans, Aran stands, giving Tsukishima a bit smile. “Hey! I’m Ojiro Aran! Thanks for agreeing to show us around today.”

His openness reminds Tsukishima of a calmer Bokuto. The warmth in Aran’s eyes is genuine. Tsukishima can’t help but notice as he slips his left hand into Kita’s right, paired black spirals sliding up and around both of their arms.

Interesting.

Tsukishima looks up at Kita, feels like he’s being read. Kita has the expression of someone who is a fixed point in their own universe, unable to be moved, absolutely content. 

Envy. What he’s feeling is envy. Not for the two marks - no - but for that self-assurance, that peace.

It’s... an unexpected bit of self-clarity, and Tsukishima turns, looking up at the placards above the entrances in front of them. “Well, if you’ve never been here...”

“Never been to anything like it, if I’m being honest,” Suna replies, curling a hand over Tsukishima’s shoulder.

“Ah, there’s a short film we can start with? About the creation of the Earth, and everything we think happened before the inception of life.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

The hand on his shoulder squeezes and pushes him forward, and Tsukishima has to smile. Suna had said that he was bringing Kita because he thought Kita would be interested, but Suna is the one who seems to be buzzing with excitement.

The four of them sit in a line in the mini-theater, with Tsukishima on Suna’s right. Tadashi gets eager like this, Tsukishima thinks. He remembers the time that they got to watch the movie about koalas in the Australian Outback. He remembers the time when they watched Dot and the Kangaroo at Tadashi’s house, even though they were a bit old for it. Tadashi could sing every word of the songs.

Tsukishima hadn’t minded.

He wonders if Yachi and Tadashi watch Dot and the Kangaroo together. For once, the thought doesn’t ache at all. Maybe he should call them up and find out.

They file out into the first hall after the movie, Suna looking around in wonder, Aran right by his side. Tsukishima stays with them for a bit, but after a while, he really isn’t needed. Kita hangs back as well, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he watches his two soulmates.

“So can I ask,” Tsukishima murmurs when the other two are clustered around a display of trilobites, “are they both your boyfriends, then?”

The question feels incredibly rude as soon as it leaves his mouth, but Kita doesn’t look offended.

“Hmm. If you have to classify it, I suppose I would say that Rintarou is my boyfriend and Aran is my best friend.”

Tsukishima wonders what the difference is if sex isn’t involved; the three certainly seem affectionate with each other. But he only has a limited point of view. Dates, Suna had said they went on dates. Friends did that though, right? He’d gone to dinner with Akaashi. He and Tadashi had gone out too, hadn’t thought a thing about it, even if Tsukishima had wished that Tadashi would turn and acknowledge his feelings just for once.

He and Kageyama hadn’t really gone on dates, but there hadn’t been time.

“I suppose I would say I have more romantic feelings towards Rin,” Kita muses. “I’m more protective of him. He needed it when we were younger - needed something stable. I’m sure he’s mentioned something about his background, you’ve seen some of the scars.”

Suna hadn’t actually said anything, but Tsukishima remembers the line of circular scars on his arm. Something from his youth, he’d said. Tsukishima didn’t want to know.

They moved on into the next room, exploring the underwater creatures that had developed and started to walk on land. 

“Or maybe he didn’t tell you, he can be skittish at times,” says Kita, glancing at Tsukishima and making a thoughtful sound. “He likes you, though. I think it’s because you outsmarted him way back when. He’s always respected you. He needs people who won’t let themselves be taken in, who hold him to a consistent standard. I’d like to think that’s why we were matched.”

Thinking on this for a moment, Tsukishima says, “So you think you get matched to the people that need you?”

“Not always. After all, they aren’t matched.”

There’s a fondness in Aran’s smile as he looks down at Suna. Suna glances up at it and then looks back down at the display, leaning closer to it. Aran looks back at them, nods at Kita, then turns his body toward the display as well.

“They aren’t...”

“It’s a V,” Kita explains, turning his palms up and showing his soulmarks to Tsukishima. “Aran provides balance. We think very differently but have no problem discussing those differences. He helps give me a perspective that I would otherwise lack. Rin, well. Rintarou pulls me forward. Aran I walk beside, but I’m always walking towards Rin, or standing still so that he can walk toward me. He makes me want to see the world through his eyes. Did you know his mother never took him to a museum when he was growing up?”

“I did not,” said Tsukishima. He wonders if this is what Kenma feels when he unlocks the tragic backstory of a character in a video game. Except -

Suna isn’t tragic. 

Tsukishima watches as Suna turns and comes back toward them, shaking his head and saying, “Come on, this isn’t just for my education, right?”

The way Kita smiles at him and reaches out to take his offered hand makes it perfectly clear why their relationship is something different than just best friends. Not better, no - just different.

As they walk Tsukishima is pulled into their rhythm, answering questions Suna asks as they pass each display. He can’t help but compare them to Kenma’s questions from a few days prior. It probably isn’t fair. This is all new to Suna, he doesn’t have the background. His questions aren’t worse or better, just - 

Different.

It’s easy to be patient with Suna’s obvious interest. Kita is more knowledgeable than expected as well, and Suna takes each of his statements as fact. Aran is good enough to try and make sure that Tsukishima feels included as the three pass around inside jokes, but it still feels so very -

Well, of course, it’ll be different than how things are with Bokuto and Kuroo, Akaashi and Kenma. He’s known those four since his first year of high school. Things had been odd at first with Bokuto and Kuroo, he remembers - man, does he remember the first time he was exposed to their awful sense of humor - 

He can’t expect to make new friends without dealing with a few off-kilter moments.

They stop for lunch at the museum’s cafe, sitting around a table in a sun-drenched atrium.

Aran buys two beef sandwiches and makes quick work of the first. “So,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “You’re friends with Bokuto from the Arrows, right?” he asks, eyes bright.

“Ah - I am,” Tsukishima says, vaguely surprised.

“Hah, I thought so. He was talking about a Tsukki in our group chat last night. I mean, it could have been someone else, but I think I remember them hanging out with y’all at Nationals, yeah? Plus he sometimes claims to have trained the best middle blockers ever.”

“I don’t think I’d qualify to be in that category,” demures Tsukishima, not quite sure how to take the fact that Bokuto talked about him to others.

“Naw, man, he’s proud of you,” says Aran, grinning as he dips a french fry into a pile of catsup. “Was real excited about you coming with us to the game Wednesday between Chuo and Daishoudai. I kept telling him he’s gonna end up sorry at the end of it, because our current team’s gonna blow Chuo out of the water, but he keeps insisting they have a good chance.”

A smirk creeps onto Tsukishima’s face before he can stop it. “I didn’t know you all were going to the game as well.”

“Yeah! Not just us, the Miya boys too - I think Sakishima’s coming in with the team too, he said he wanted to touch base with his old Nohebi peeps. Maybe that Hinata guy will come? And Ushijima, they’re tight yeah? Man, that would be great. Who knows, maybe old Sakusa will come down, though I doubt it. He seems happy enough to be a homebody with his guy up in Aichi unless they’re at a game. You know his setter, right? Or wait, maybe I’m just being rude, assuming all you Miyagi guys know each other.”

“Semi,” Tsukishima says, nodding as he remembers. “Semi Eita.”

“Yeah, that’s the one! Man, they’re like fire and ice on the court together. Makes it fun to play against Trefuerza though.”

“Yeah.” 

“Can I ask - how come you stopped playing? I don’t even think you played in college, did you? You were an incredible middle blocker - think you even stopped one of my spikes one time or something - I know you threw off Rin here.”

Tsukishima just chuckles politely, watches as Suna gives Aran a dirty look before turning back to his phone. Honestly, Tsukishima doesn’t remember every play of that game. He remembers the one time he’d stopped Ushijima - that had counted. But the game against Inarizaki was just a blur of exhaustion. He did remember Aran’s overwhelming presence and those damned twins. He remembers Suna’s flexibility, the way he’d tried to lure him in with that impossible reach of his. Ah, and Kita, he remembers.

Kita had grounded the Inarizaki team members during that game.

Sometimes, Tsukishima is amazed that Karasuno had won.

“This work is more interesting to me,” Tsukishima admits, waving his hand and looking back toward the museum. “Well, the science behind it. Piecing together what came before, trying to see the connections. People have been finding fossils for eons, and we’ve always tried to tell ourselves stories about what they came from.”

Looking up, Suna says, “I read something about that. Like the Greeks and wooly mammoth skulls? Thinking that they were cyclops?”

“Maybe,” says Tsukishima. “I haven’t heard of that one, but it seems plausible. Some of the things I see, if I didn’t have the technology to process them, I might come up with something like that too. Now, though, we’re starting to have enough pieces to be able to get a good grasp on what the reality actually was back then. I just - I guess I want to be a part of putting the puzzle together.”

“An admirable goal,” Kita says.

“Aww man, yeah. Well, I mean, it’s not volleyball,” Aran says, “But it’s good you have something you’re passionate about in your life.”

Tilting his head to the side, Kita responds, “Good to have something that can give him the satisfaction of a job well done.”

Suna seems amused by the whole exchange, eyes dancing as he looks from Aran to Kita and back again. He glances down at his phone as soon as Aran turns attention his way, though.

It’s almost...

“If you ever come out our way, you should come to one of our games, man,” Aran says, smiling so wide his teeth gleam. “After, me and the boys can show you around Osaka. Even give you a place to crash when you’re fallin’ down drunk.”

“That sounds interesting,” Tsukishima murmurs, glancing at Suna. He can’t help but remember the last time he got drunk.

“Yeah, Osaka’s a great town, man. Don’t get me wrong, I like Tokyo alright, but it’s just - well, I guess it just isn’t home. I keep tryin’ to get these two to move back, but they’re still bein’ stubborn.”

“Someday, perhaps,” says Kita, gaze resting on Suna.

All he gets in reply is a fraction of a shrug.

“Ah well. I guess they just have more reasons to stay here right now,” Aran sighs, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms behind his head. He’s still got that smile dancing around his eyes, though he’s turned his attention fully to Tsukishima for the moment.

“It’s not a bad town,” Tsukishima says, feeling like he’s the one that’s supposed to reply. “True, parts of it are a bit undesirable or irritating, but once you’ve lived here a few years you can find places that are comfortable.”

He does sometimes miss the openness of Miyagi but has no desire to go back other than to visit, much to his mother’s displeasure.

“Comfort, eh? I guess so.”

For a split second Tsukishima catches a frown crossing Aran’s face. Kita reaches out, brushes the back of his hand against Aran’s forearm. It’s a subtle thing, but Tsukishima sees that Suna has noticed it.

Having soulmates must be complicated at times, he thinks.

He still wants, wishes, but -

Hmm.

It’s different than it used to be. Maybe he’s just had too many emotions the past few days, but he doesn’t feel the old familiar rage when he thinks about his absence of marks. Not at the moment at least. Instead, there’s an emptiness there, a stillness. 

He feels like he’s been granted an inside look into some of those complications, and maybe - maybe -

He doesn’t know.

“Are you ready to see the rest of the museum?” he asks, folding his napkin together and putting it in front of him.

Looking up from his phone, Suna nods. “Yes,” he says. “I think there’s a longer movie at two? And I still want to see the exhibit on fossils found in Japan...”

“All of that,” Aran says, eyes soft as he looks over at him. “We can do all of that.”

“Hmm, yes. As long as you remember what you promised me for dinner,” says Kita.

Suna turns and smiles at him, a hand sliding across the table toward Kita, brushing fingers against his hand before Suna pulls Kita’s trash closer to him. “Ah, I’ll get yours as well, Aran? And Tsukishima.”

It’s swift and practiced and in an instant Suna is over at the garbage station, sorting things out. There are layers going on here that Tsukishima doesn’t understand. It’s almost a relief to know he doesn’t have to, really, even if the lack of something similar feels like a void within him.

His phone buzzes. A text from Kenma reminding him about the research he’d asked about last night. There’s a cute little picture of a screaming Dilophosaurus attached at the end that makes him chuckle, even if he knows it’s out of the proper timeline for Kenma’s game.

Kenma probably knows too. He can google, after all - but it’s still cute.

Coming back over to the table, Suna asks, “Ready?”

“Ah, ready,” says Tsukishima, standing and slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Evolutionary structures are next, correct?”

“Yes.”

It’s elementary stuff, and Tsukishima has seen it a thousand times before - but he enjoys the company of the other three, so he doesn’t mind. Doesn’t feel the same chemistry that had drawn him to Suna at the club, but he doesn’t mind that either.

New friendships are good. 

Old friendships - well.

Perhaps he really should call up Tadashi when he gets the chance.


	12. Reflect

“Dumbass!” Kageyama yells, scowling at Hinata. “You’re making far too big of a deal of this. It’s not like these kids even know who I am. Hell, weren’t most of them not even born when we went to nationals?”

“They’re eight! It hasn’t been eight years since nationals!”

“Almost!”

Hinata is scowling right back. 

Kageyama knows he’s being childish. Knows they both are. Still, in a way it feels good, even if a part of him is embarrassed at how excited Hinata is for him to meet the team he volunteers for a few times a week.

“You’re going to be surprised,” Hinata says as he strides toward the doors of the gym, turning to stick his tongue out before putting hands on the door. “Just because you decided to stop playing - and only a couple of years ago, remember! - that doesn’t mean people don’t remember who you are.”

“Yeah, but they’re only kids,” Kageyama mutters under his breath.

The door pops open and Hinata jumps back.

“Where are - oh, there you two are! You were taking forever, I was worried!”

Stunned, Kageyama looks into the face of the only other person in his life that shines more brightly than Hinata. Well, technically she is Hinata-san now, isn’t she, unless she - “Natsu-chan?” he stammers out.

“The one and only! Come on inside, they’re all waiting.”

A coach. She’s dressed like a coach. 

He follows her inside and barely registers the slap Hinata gives to his back. There’s a crowd of about twenty kids inside and -

Uh -

Why are their parents there?

“Look! It’s really him!” one of the kids yells out, jumping to his feet and running their way. 

Kageyama steps back and runs into Hinata, but the kid stops two feet in front of him, gives him a huge grin, glances back and then give a deep bow. “We are happy to welcome you to our humble sports club, Kageyama Tobio-sama, sir!”

“Ah -”

“Katsumi!” Natsu scolds, stepping forward and bopping him on the head. “You were supposed to wait till I introduced him. And he’s not a lord, he’s just -”

“Amazing,” says another of the children, clutching a magazine in his hand as he shuffles up behind Katsumi. “Have you seen his record? And watched his games? Someday I want to be a setter like him.”

“That’s good, because I want to play with a setter like him! So I can go wham and bash and the ball will just be there and I can be as awesome as Hinata-sensei the second!” says a third.

Suddenly, all the children are crowding around, looking up at him with huge eyes.

Hinata laughs behind him. “I’m Hinata-sensei the second, by the way,” he whispers, nudging Kageyama’s shoulder.

Natsu just winks at him. “I’m the first.”

“Ah, Kageyama-san,” one of the men behind the children says with a bow, “it’s an honor to meet you. I saw the first game you played at nationals. You inspired me to join my high school team. We never made it to nationals, but you showed me it was worth working hard!”

“And my husband and I went on our first date,” says one of the mothers, elbowing the man beside her, who looks a bit abashed as he runs a hand through spiky hair. “At first I was thinking that it was also going to be our last date, but then we watched your game - well, and the others - and I couldn’t help but get excited. So I stuck with him.”

“Yeah, and it’s a good thing too, mom!” says one of the boys, who’s wearing a baseball cap turned around on his head. 

It’s - 

A lot.

He’d expected to come over and hang out and maybe set the occasional ball to the kids, not be overwhelmed with tiny people waving pictures and magazines and programs at him - oh, and their parents too. He hasn’t played since he finished undergrad, do they not know this? Evidently not. He gets questions about Oikawa too, and he files that away, wondering if he should tell his senpai and make his ego even bigger. No, knowing Oikawa he would come and try to arrange a weekend clinic with the kids. Children bring out the honesty in him.

There’s a little girl hovering on the sidelines with a ball clutched in her hands and it reminds Kageyama of how Natsu was when they were younger. One of the boys calls her their manager and she doesn’t retort but she makes Kageyama wonder.

“Do you know who Kanoka Amanai is?” he asks her as he signs her ball.

Her eyes light up and spots of pink appear in her cheeks, and she nods, lips parting like there’s a torrent of words waiting to come out of her mouth even though she stays silent. 

“A friend of mine is her husband. I bet she’d be more than happy to come meet with you all one day - want me to ask your coach?”

“Yes please,” she whispers, fingers pressing against the ball. She looks down, “I want to play like her, but no one on my team wants to work, and here they say it’s just for b-boys...”

“Who says, Natsu- ah, I mean Hinata-san?”

She shakes her head, glances over at three of the boys who are clustered together. One with glasses looks over and waves at her, smiling big.

Huh.

It’s the first time in a while that he’s actually been interested in coaching. That muted drive, though - it reminds him of Hinata back when they first met, back when he didn’t know enough to realize that it wasn’t that Hinata had been wasting his talent but that he hadn’t had the opportunity to fully realize it. Once again, he’s thankful for the chain of circumstances that let him to Karasuno.

Even if -

Well. He’d think about Kunimi and Kindaichi later.

When he sets to the team, he makes sure that she’s included in the lineup. Her friend's cries of surprise and admiration as she spikes the ball over the net make him smile. Even Natsu looks a bit astonished.

It reminds him of the most satisfying part of being a setter.

The glow from her smile lasts all the way through his goodbyes to the team and the walk toward Hinata and Ushijima’s apartment.

“You’re a real natural with the kids, you know,” Hinata says, giving him a fox-like grin as they turn the corner toward his door. “Who would’ve thought it, old emotionally constipated -”

“Idiot.” The rest of the retort dies in Kageyama’s throat as he sees the person waiting on the steps in front of them.

Well. This can never be completely unexpected, but it’s still a little strange.

“Ah, Shouyou,” Kenma says, gaze sliding from Hinata to Kageyama and then to the side. “Tobio-kun.” 

The familiar use of his name feels both normal and off because it’s Kenma, Kenma always uses first names with his friends. He rarely uses honorifics, even of the more familiar kind. It’s an odd mix. Kageyama knows, instantly, that Kenma knows about what’s happened with Tsukishima. Knows and has thought about it. It’s nothing that they’ll talk about - he and Kenma don’t actually talk if he’s honest - but it’s still awkward.

Ushijima opens the door.

“I’m home!” Hinata yells before any of them can say anything, jumping up in the air. 

The smile Ushijima graces Hinata with reminds Kageyama just how suited the two are to each other, even with all their differences. “Welcome home,” he murmurs, and for a moment it just feels like only the two of them are there in that space. 

The spell is broken when Ushijima looks over at Kenma. “Kozume-san,” he says. “I am sorry it took me a moment to get to the door. I have your tickets in here. I trust you are doing better?”

Kenma nods, following as Ushijima backs away from the door. 

Hinata follows, slipping off his shoes and almost skipping into the kitchen. Kageyama feels awkward as he walks into the living room and watches Ushijima and Kenma talk near the dining room table. He hopes that Kenma will leave soon. Thinks there’s a good chance since neither of them is sitting down.

It’s a selfish hope and he knows it. Still, he can’t help but be disconcerted with how Kenma glances over at him, almost like he wants to say something. Really, Kageyama should’ve gone into the kitchen after Hinata. He could now, but it would just be layering embarrassment on top of embarrassment, so he pulls out his phone and sits down on the loveseat, checking his chat with Kunimi.

Kageyama had sent him a cute picture of a black cat earlier. He didn’t want to outright say that it had reminded him of Kunimi, but it reminded him of Kunimi.

In response, Kunimi had sent him a picture of a black kimono. It was hanging up in an office filled with books. Was it Kunimi’s office? Was it just a picture he’d found? The kimono itself was beautiful, embroidered with fans the colors of fall leaves, all copper and cream and brown and gold. There were little leaves on the fans, and ribbons and more leaves swirling around them. He wondered why Kunimi had sent it to him. 

Was it what he wanted Kageyama to wear to the festival? He didn’t own a kimono, was just planning on wearing a plain navy yukata he’d owned for years. Maybe it was Kunimi’s kimono?

 _It looks nice_ he finally sent, hoping that was the right response.

He glances up, relaxing as he sees Ushijima ushering Kenma back toward the door. He returns the wave that Kenma gives him as he leaves, and looks down as his phone dings in his hand.

_It looks even better in person._

Those six words make his stomach tighten, and he feels so very outclassed when it comes to playing whatever game is between the two of them. Well three of them, but Kindaichi is straightforward even when he’s confusing.

Kunimi...

He has to admit he likes it though. Likes the hope that Kunimi is actually flirting with him. Wanting him to think about that kimono wrapped around his body, the fabric bringing out the warmth in his skin, sleeves falling over his wrists -

There’s another message and he checks it, feels the heat that has been building ice over at the terse words Tsukishima has sent him.

_Do you have time tomorrow to come and pick up your things?_

It’s like being dunked in cold water. Emotions run over him faster than he can catch them. 

_Yes._

He stuffs his phone in his pocket, not wanting to get into the details of scheduling right now. Ushijima is watching him. He’s sitting on the couch and looking over, his expression what Kageyama likes to consider neutrally supportive. Ushijima is neutral about most things. Sometimes Kageyama wonders how Hinata stands it, but well.

Maybe no one but the people inside a relationship ever truly knows what goes on between them.

“I’m making Beef Lo-Mein for dinner if that’s alright?” Hinata says as he comes bounding out of the kitchen. “Oh, and Tendou sent us a card from Italy, you should look at it!”

“That’s fine,” Kageyama says, at the same time that Ushijima says, “I will.”

Kageyama flushes. 

He’s pretty sure from the way Hinata is looking at him that he’s figured out that something is up.

For once, however, Hinata shows some restraint, giving him a smile before going back to cook. Kageyama wonders sometimes how it is that Hinata can manage to make dinner without burning the whole complex down. It’s nice to be a room away from his energy for a bit though, sitting back and listening to Hinata sing pop songs in the kitchen while Ushijima turned on the news. Kageyama notices he keeps the volume down low enough that they can hear Hinata.

He’s also pretty sure that not even Ushijima is all that interested in watching the minutia of Diet sessions. The politicians on-screen are giving mind-blowingly dull speeches that Kageyama can barely follow. It's relaxing, in a way.

Lets him zone out, not think for a bit.

The meal, when it comes, is about what Kageyama expects - noodles slightly burnt and not quite thoroughly done, sauce a little bit saltier than he likes. But it doesn’t matter because Hinata made it, and Hinata is almost bouncing as he sits next to Ushijima, telling him all about their time with the kids.

“You should have seen it, Waka! He was only nervous for the first five minutes, didn’t make any of them cry at all, and then there was this one girl -”

“Sakura,” Kageyama growls.

“That he set to and she just flew! I didn’t even know she could do that, I thought she was just Shinji and Kosuke’s friend, I didn’t even know she played!”

Kageyama purses his lips, feeling protective. “She does, dumbass.”

“Well yeah, I know that now, but - hmm.”

“Are you considering volunteering with them on a more regular basis, Kageyama-kun?” Ushijima asks.

“I am,” says Kageyama. He hadn’t been, not until this minute, but it just feels right. He wonders if this is how Ukai felt, or how Oikawa feels with the kids he works with. The light in Sakura’s eyes - he wants to see that more often. Wants to see how she’ll grow and develop. Well, and not just her, but her friends as well.

He knows he’ll never get over his love of volleyball, even if he did choose to pursue his career on a path different than what Ushijima and Hinata have chosen. He enjoys the one-on-one sessions he has with athletes that help them reach their full physical potential but coaching a team -

He’d be good at it. It’s a certainty that comes to him in an instant, like unrolling a case and seeing that he has all the tools needed for a job laid out in front of him. It’s satisfying.

Ushijima nods. “That sounds good. Shouyou has been missing your company.”

“Waka!”

Kageyama blinks, looking over at his best friend, surprised at the color in his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he says. It slips out without permission. What does he have to be sorry for? Hinata could always invite him over more if -

Ah, but they aren’t quite as free with each other’s company as they were when they were kids.

Hinata is giving him a lopsided smile and Kageyama returns it, shrugging. The past is the past. They’ll figure out the future as it comes.

And speaking of the future -

“I, ah, saw Kindaichi and Kunimi the other day,” he says, fighting the urge to look around and make sure there’s no one else here to overhear the words. “Ah, actually, have been kinda talking to them. We had lunch Sunday.”

It’s hard to know what Hinata is thinking. He’s silent for once, and it feels so unnatural that Kagayama wants to take back the words. He’s smiling, not grinning, and it honestly looks just a little bit constipated.

“They are your soulmates, correct?” Ushijima asks.

Hinata’s smile tightens and he almost winces at Kageyama’s glare.

“Right -”

“That’s awesome!” Hinata finally yells, almost vibrating right up off the couch. “Is it good? It’s going well? You’re happy? They’re nice?”

“Shut up!” Kageyama yells back, trying to figure out just when Hinata had come over and grabbed his hands. “Uh, I mean, erm -”

He looks over at Ushijima to make sure he hadn’t offended the guy by yelling at his boyfriend, but Ushijima is just sitting back with a calm smile.

Cheeks red, Kageyama mumbles, “It’s going good I think. Ah - a lot better than high school. I think, uh. I think we’ve all grown up some. Hopefully.”

“That’s so awesome though!” says Hinata, smiling down at him with that thousand-watt smile. Kageyama always has a split-second instinctive urge to push him when he smiles like that, especially when he suspects there’s some clever scheme behind it. 

But maybe Hinata is just happy for him.

“Man, I always hoped you’d get back together with them.”

“... we’re not together, dumbass,” Kageyama growls. _Yet. Hopefully. Not together yet._

“I mean, you and Tsukki, uh... hey, I mean it’s good you do your thing I guess? But you never really seemed quite, ah. Happy.”

The words cut in a way that only Hinata has ever been able to manage. Kageyama breathes. He’s glad that Hinata has returned to Ushijima’s side and picked up his plate, glad that he can focus on the plate of noodles in his own lap. “I was happy,” he says, clinging to the truth of it. “We were happy together.”

He closes his eyes and bites his bottom lip, not wanting to rewrite the past with a convenient falsehood. He had been happy with Tsukishima. It’s an ache, one that goes double-deep because of Tsukishima’s text, because he knows, even if a part of him wishes he could hold onto that happiness, that they’re over.

They’re over, and the thought of a future with Kunimi and Kindaichi is beckoning him and it feels right and natural and he hopes -

But Tsukishima had never been their replacement. He’s never been someone Kageyama had been with out of convenience, or because he couldn’t have what he really wanted.

Tsukishima had been - is - he doesn’t want to lose the truth of it, even if the world shifts and reforms all around them. “Tsukishima is important.”

“Oh,” says Hinata, voice small. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok.”

It’s not ok, there’s a lot not ok that Kageyama knows he’ll have to deal with. He’s grieving. He can only take sips of his grief, is afraid it’s going to overwhelm him, doesn’t know what to do with all the emotions swirling in his heart - but between Hinata and him, it’s ok.

After all, Hinata is Hinata, and Hinata has always been a dumbass.

And his best friend.

“As long as you know you are always welcome here with us, Kageyama-kun,” Ushijima says. “And I am happy to listen to your reasons if you ever find that you need someone to be beat up.”

Kageyama and Hinata both turn to stare at him, and Ushijima shrugs.

“We aren’t going to beat him - Waka! Tsukishima is a friend! And Kunimi and Kindaichi, uh, well - don’t talk like that or Tobio is going to think you were secretly a delinquent in school!”

“I knew delinquents,” Ushijima says.

“You knew Semi! Ugh, and Semi wasn’t even a delinquent, he’s just - and you - Tobio don’t listen to him he’s never beat anyone up in his life.”

“I probably could,” says Ushijima, tilting his head to the side. “Shirabu could. He offered, that time with the bananas.”

Hinata pales. “It was just a joke,” he says.

Ushiwaka nods, looking down at him.

Honestly, Kageyama can understand Hinata’s fear. Shirabu can be, well. Terrifying.

“Uh,” Kageyama says, “I won’t be needing anyone to beat anyone up, don’t worry.”

“Ah. That’s good.” The smile Ushijima gives him makes Kageyama wonder if it was all some subtle joke in the other man’s mind. Ushijima is -

Well.

He’s just glad that Hinata has him, that’s all, even if Ushijima will always remain a mystery.

Turning toward the television, Ushijima picks up the control. “Is anime alright? There’s a series that Satori has been asking me about, and I would like to have some points of reference for conversation when he returns home next month.”

“Ah, yes, that’s fine,” says Kageyama. He smiles to himself as Hinata puts his plate on the coffee table and curls up under Ushijima’s arm, looking at the television happily.

Ushijima nods, navigating to the show. “Ah, and I may as well say that we will be having a cookout to welcome him home, and you are of course invited. As are any guests you chose to bring along.”

Guests. Dates - or maybe friends. There’s an acceptance in Ushijima’s statement that Kageyama appreciates. He can count on it.

“Thank you,” he says.

It is good to be among friends.

~~~~~~~

Tsukishima hates the silence in his apartment.

He’d tried to turn on music. Music is always something he could rest in, something that helps filter out the world at its worst.

None of his songs sound right.

He bites his bottom lip, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. It’s stupid. This feels so unlike him. He doesn’t get sentimental like this. 

Swallowing, he runs a thumb over the picture they’d taken at the Tokyo Skytree. It was back before they’d started really dating, back when they were still just friends exploring what it meant to be college students alone in Tokyo.

Should he keep it?

Should he put it in the box he was filling with Kageyama’s things?

It had been a cloudy day, he remembers. A quiet day. Tsukishima had been glad that Hinata was busy that day because the silence had been a welcome thing as he’d looked out at the Tokyo skyline with Kageyama by his side.

He’s so glad that Kageyama isn’t here right now to see him reduced to this state.

He feels selfish as he sticks the picture back on the shelf, sliding it behind a team photo from their third year of high school and a childhood picture of Akiteru and him holding up fish at a lakeside. Is it wrong for him to want to keep pieces of his past with Kageyama? Should he want to just cut ties completely?

That will be impossible, he knows. Kageyama is woven into his past and his present.

He just...

He sits, leaning back into the overstuffed softness of his couch. His hand automatically reaches out along the back, fingers curling around empty air.

Kageyama had been surprisingly affectionate when it was just the two of them. Tsukishima misses -

Misses him.

Going through his things is a reminder of everything that Kageyama is to him, even if Tsukishima has decided there are some things he isn’t. They’d grown together over the past few months and years. Shared silly things. Little notes. Dreams. Tsukishima had been a part of the conversations that had helped Kageyama decide to pursue an advanced degree instead of going pro with volleyball. Kageyama had been there for him when his grandmother passed away, when Tadashi and Yachi were married. Those things -

He’d thrown around the word replacement, but he knows - he hopes - that isn’t true for Kageyama. It isn’t true for Tsukishima.

He wishes he could take back some of his words, especially the ones he’d made about Suna being better. That had been hateful. He doesn’t want to hate Kageyama. Doesn’t want to be hated.

All he wants - well. He’s not sure what he wants.

Is that alright?

Maybe that’s alright.

He looks over at the boxes, thinks what else he needs to do to finish. Tomorrow he only has a morning class and some research. There’s time enough to finish before Kageyama comes over.

Slipping his phone out of his pocket, Tsukishima scrolls through his top contacts, making sure his breathing is stable before he presses the call button.

“Hello?”

“Hey.”

“Well hey there.”

The warmth in Tadashi’s voice grounds him in a way he didn’t even know he needed. “Sorry it’s been so long,” he says.

“Ah, no, it’s fine,” Tadashi says, and Tsukishima knows without having to see that he’s smiling. “Grad school gets busy, I know - how’s the internship going?”

“Good,” says Tsukishima. Falling into conversation with Tadashi is easy, almost like there hadn’t been almost two months of radio silence between them. After all, Tadashi was the first one outside his family who had encouraged his love of dinosaurs. Even if there is space between them, Tadashi would always be his best friend. That is more than just a hope.

“Kenma, huh?” Tadashi says after Tsukishima tells him about the project he’s helping with. “Man, he used to be so scary! Is he still that bad?”

“Ah, no,” says Tsukishima, lips curling into a smile. He settles back into the couch. “I mean, yes I suppose. I wouldn’t want to be a rival developer. I enjoy working with him, though. He has interesting ideas.”

Tadashi is moving around on the other end of the line, grunting before he says, “Interesting ideas, eh? Ah, sec, ack!” 

There’s the clattering of objects in the background but no crashes, so Tsukishima assumes that Tadashi is safe. It makes his lips twitch.

He waits until Tadashi picks the phone back up. “Ah, sorry about that,” Tadashi says with a weak laugh. “We’re moving from an apartment into a house that Yachi’s mom lined up this week, so, ah - oh! Hey! Are you and Kageyama free this Thursday night?”

Sucking in a breath, Tsukishima says, “Ah -”

“Hitoka-san is having an event in Tokyo that day and Yachi and I are going to help out. As thanks, you know, but also, uh - if you’re free, we’d love to have dinner with the two of you! We have, um, news.”

News. He has a fairly good idea of what the news will be.

Tsukishima steels himself for the pain, but to his surprise, there’s just a gentle ache overlaying honest joy for his friends. “News, eh?”

Embarrassment colors Tadashi’s laugh, and Tsukishima can just imagine him rubbing the back of his neck. When he speaks, though, there a soft wonder in his voice as he says, “Yeah, news.”

“Congratulations, Tadashi,” Tsukishima murmurs.

“Thank you.”

The stretch of silence between them is comfortable. Tsukishima smiles, wondering how he might help Tadashi and Yachi over the next few months. It would mean going home. Seeing Akiteru and his wife, seeing their parents. He’s been meaning to do that soon anyhow.

He lets another moment pass before turning to his own not-so-wonderful news. “Ah, I am free. Kageyama won’t - well - I’d prefer that you tell him separately if that’s all right.”

“What?”

“We broke up -” when? Last Thursday? Saturday? “- recently, and I wouldn’t want that to -”

“Wow,” Tadashi says. “Are you ok? Man, we thought - well - are you ok?”

He wasn’t, yet. “I will be,” he says.

“You sure? I mean, I’m off until Monday because of the moving thing, if you need me I could come over and stay or something, I don’t want you to be alone -”

“I’m not, Tadashi,” Tsukishima said. “I’m not alone. I do have other friends, you know.”

“Yeah, but -”

“Good friends.” He thinks of Kuroo, of Akaashi, Bokuto - Kenma. He thinks of the Inarizaki connections he’s making, branching out. Of his fellow students and coworkers. “Thank you.”

Tadashi hums a moment before saying, “Well, alright - but you know our house is always open to you, right? If you need it. Or you can call and talk - heck we can stay up and get drunk Thursday - whatever you need.”

“I just - it will be good to see you, Tadashi. You and Yachi both. I want to celebrate with you.”

“Well alright, if you’re sure,” says Tadashi, gasping before he continues, “Oh! And don’t let Yachi know I said anything, please! She wants it to be a surprise, and is still scared its too soon to tell anyone - but I know she’ll be so happy to let you know -”

“I’ll be surprised, Tadashi,” Tsukishima murmurs, biting his lips to keep from laughing. 

“Well, ok. Fine then.”

A laugh does slip out then, and Tsukishima gives a deep sigh. 

He gets up after they say their goodbyes, getting ready to sleep. The bed still feels too big. The empty half is too cold, but -

Peace. He feels at peace, and sleep, when it comes, is deep.

**Author's Note:**

> BTW these days I'm most active on twitter, so feel free to come say hi...[@kaiyou_sea](https://twitter.com/Kaiyou_sea)


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